


Anecdotes from the Story of the Century

by WhiteLadyDragon



Series: The Story of L, Kira and the Death Note [2]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Gen, Humor, Moral Ambiguity, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Tragedy, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 33
Words: 81,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteLadyDragon/pseuds/WhiteLadyDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of "slices of life" for our heroes...and villains, during and after the case. All of them based on SotC. </p><p>Disclaimer! All fictional entities featured/ mentioned in this segment belong to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata; except Erin Blogger and a few more original characters who I made up for the purpose of this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Father

She never would've thought a day like Father's Day could bring about so much angst. Father's Day, for her, had always been a day for goofing off with her old man. It'd been about waking up at the crack of dawn to fix him breakfast—both a gesture of appreciation and an attempt to impress him with whatever mad cooking skills she'd learned from him—and watching his face contort into odd expressions as he tried to swallow her culinary creations, then insist on the whole gang going out to eat when she'd ask him if she should make him lunch, too. It'd been about getting him the craziest tie she could find (ideally, one that's even crazier than the one her brother would get) to add to his collection, but not before biting back snickers as their father paraded his gift around his neck for all of his friends to behold at work for several days afterwards. It'd been about the entire tribe spending the afternoon at the bowling alley—her and him versus Mom and Farley, though it could also be her and Farley versus Mom and Dad, or Dad and Farley, versus her and Mom—and not caring in the least who won or lost, so long as they were together.

Father's Day had been about a lot of things.

But those were the days before college, Kira, and L.

This year, she's holed up in a hotel halfway across the world waiting on that sweet-sucking twit to realize that those kids he's keeping in prison can't possibly be the serial killers he's been hunting down and let them go already. Dad doesn't know this, though. None of them do. They think she's just studying her ass off, or otherwise poking her nose everywhere in Japan that she can. She's been so "busy," all she could afford to do was send him an electronic greeting card, which he may not get around to seeing until after the day ends, what with the family being out and generally away from the computer. Whoopee.

L had been there to watch her send it. He couldn't find it in his heart—given that he has one—to let her have just a pinch of privacy in sending her love to Dad in the only way she can. This had especially bugged her when she'd picked the fluffiest, flashiest card available (featuring neckties that spin like pinwheels). He hadn't said a word about it, but he didn't have to. She could feel him watching over her shoulder, burning a hole through the monitor with his inhumanly scrutinizing stare as he tried to dissect the whole ritual for its significance.

Of course he wouldn't get it. Some time ago, he had admitted to having no family to speak of, or speak to. Thinking about this leaves her unable to decide whether to hate or pity him.

She wonders what the family's doing right now, wonders whether they're having as much fun without her as they would if she were there. Wonders if Dad misses her too much to really enjoy his day. She can't say the feeling isn't mutual.

She wonders if Farley has found a tie crazy enough for him.

What's worse, it looks like she's not the only one here with the holiday blues. In fact, the blues might be hitting some worse than it hits her.

Light looks so tired, either from protesting his innocence every hour or from homesickness. Or both. Today, he quietly seethes, knowing that L won't let him out for even one day with his family, the stubborn ass. Misa, she sulks even more. She's blindfolded and equally quiet, but the lights accentuate the drying tear streaks on her cheeks. Even if she weren't being tied up and interrogated, she has no one to celebrate with. Her father's dead, along with the rest of her immediate family, from what Erin has heard.

Then there's Aizawa, himself a father of two cute little girls, according to Matsuda. Too bad he can't enjoy them. How can he, when he's here in a dim-lit suite with the rest of them, his temper flaring at the drop of a hat while his patience runs paper-thin? She wants to tell him to go home, there's nothing productive he can do here, he doesn't owe anything to that drip perched in front of the cameras, but she can't. He loves his family, but he has a job that he is just as dedicated to. He wouldn't want to hear it, not from her. What would she know? "I know you don't want to be here, but some of us actually have business, namely to stop a crazy mass murderer from terrorizing society as we know it," he'd tell her. Or something along those lines.

But Mr. Yagami seems to be hit the hardest. His incarceration self-imposed, it seems that all he wants for Father's Day is for Light's innocence to be confirmed (by L, of all people) so he can walk out of this hole with him. Until then, he just sits there in that metal chair, staring up at the ceiling like he's praying to whatever benevolent forces that be to grant his wish. Light doesn't know about what his old man's been up to since he went into confinement. If only he did…

By the looks of things, both of the Yagami men are deeply missed, today. She figures this because of what happens just after she and Matsuda have pulled up to the entrance of "headquarters." Matsu had needed to mail out the gift he'd picked out for his own father—ugh, what is it with everyone being so busy that they can't go see their dads personally?—and Erin, deciding to make the best of the holiday by getting something nice for the fathers in the task force, had accompanied him.

Suddenly, a young girl—early to mid-teens, by the looks of her—appears in the corner of the rearview mirror, hopping up to the entrance with a paper bag clutched in her hand. Her shiny, milk chocolate-brown hair bounces behind her in a loose bun.

She's got the same wide, bright eyes as Light.

Erin squints. "Huh? Hey Matsu, who's that girl? Know her?"

Matsuda gasps softly to himself. "Sayu…?"

Sayu. That's her name? Matsuda must know her, then. What business could she possibly have here?

He's hasty in unbuckling his seat belt. "Uh, Elin, you'd better stay in the car. I'll be right back. And please really stay in the car, this time, okay?"

Erin doesn't know what to say, but nods. It's not as if she could get out, this time, anyway. This time Matsuda and Sayu are standing in front of the entrance, talking. She places the bags of goods on the floor between her feet. All she can do is roll down the tinted window, enough so she can peek through the crack and hear bits and pieces of their conversation. He didn't say she couldn't snoop.

Sayu bounces a little on the balls of her heels before she hands the bag over to Matsuda. "This is from Mom and me. Extra clothes, toiletries, food, and…presents. Make sure these get to Dad as soon as possible."

Matsu bows. "Consider it done."

The cheery smile runs away from her face, all of a sudden.

"Wh-what's wrong, Sayu?" He then looks pained, as though he suspects that he's just asked an incredibly stupid question.

"I know I shouldn't be complaining, it doesn't do anyone any good to. But we really wish Dad was home, if only for today. Light, too. Ever since he and Dad had that argument about his wanting to move in with Misa, he's been spending all of his time at work."

Wait. So this girl…is Mr. Yagami's daughter? And Light's little sister?

Argument, huh? She wonders if L's had anything to do with concocting that load of PS. It certainly covers all of the bases, doesn't it? Why the boys haven't been home, lately.

"I know Light's eighteen and in college, so he can technically do whatever he wants, but do he and Dad really have to fight over it? I was sort of wishing they'd put aside their differences by today so we could celebrate it as a family…but I guess right now, this is the most we can do for him. Thanks for watching out for Dad when we can't, Matsu."

The girl adds with a slight, sad chuckle, "I wonder if Light decided to leave because of all the times I basically made him do my homework for me?"

Erin can't bear to hear any more. She rolls up the window until it can go no higher before those tears start stinging her eyes. This little girl is also being kept away from her dad and big brother, though the circumstances behind her situation are wildly different from hers. She's being lied to while it's happening. How can her friend Matsu be on board with something like that?

Sayu gives him a quick hug and leaves shortly thereafter. Matsu waves to her, wishing her as best of a Father's Day as she can have before heading back to the car. Erin can't stop rubbing at her eyes fast enough. "Elin? What's the matter?"

She can hardly look him in the eye. "How could you, Matsu?" she almost whispers.

"H-how could I what?"

"That was Mr. Yagami's kid you were just talking to, wasn't it? How can you lie to a little girl about what's going on with her dad and brother? O-on a day like today, too? And you know her?"

Unlike certain other people on the team, Matsuda is easily plagued with guilt. Erin doesn't want to torture him so, but she can't help it. Neither can he. He must also be getting fidgety because she'd heard everything, though doesn't call her out on it. "Well, I, uh—I don't want to lie to her, either, Elin. None of us do."

Maybe, except the big turd waiting upstairs. 

He glances everywhere as he scratches the back of his neck. "B-but what could we say? 'Light is suspected of being Kira, and the Chief's thrown himself in jail because of that?' We can't let Sayu or Sachiko know what's going on. We don't want any civilians involved. A-any more civilians, I should say. Especially if they're family."

He can't explain it any better than that. Maybe she shouldn't place blame on him alone? After all, he's just following orders.

…

Erin can barely handle American food as a cook. Japanese cuisine? Fuhgitaboutit! The boxes of wagashi she carries in are all store-bought, but it's the best they can do. One box for all of the men, plus a complimentary razor (some of them really look as though they can use a clean shave). Watari has no children—or grandchildren—that she knows of, but he takes care of everyone and does a super job at it, so he gets something, too. Even Mogi, who is a bachelor, as far as she knows, though Matsuda had said something about his being an uncle, which comes close.

Well, maybe not all of the men will get something today.

L's sugar-senses must be tingling, or else he wouldn't be peering halfway over his shoulder to see her drop a box into Aizawa's lap. "What's this?" asks Aizawa, skeptical as ever.

"Oh, just a little something for Father's Day. The razor is complimentary. Guaranteed to keep your skin hydrated, while giving you that clean, comfortable shave you want."

"You don't say. Erm…thank you. I think."

She can feel L's gaze on her. Now he's paying attention? "Sorry, Ryuzaki. We'd have gotten you something, but deadbeats don't get presents. Or give, for that matter." This makes Aizawa snort in surprise.

If he's craving sugar, he's doing a terrific job hiding it on his bored face. "What seems to be the problem today, Miss Crocker?" He asks like he doesn't know what's up, but at the same time, doesn't sound at all interested.

Erin folds her arms. "Did you know that Light's got a little sister? She stopped by, a while ago."

"I know. Matsuda is on his way to deliver her package to Mr. Yagami, as we speak."

"Uh-huh, yeah, peachy." This time, she doesn't care about being called out on snooping. Something must be said. Besides, it's not like Sayu saw her or anything. "Apparently, she and her mom are under this impression that her dad and big brother got into this blowout about her brother wanting to move out or something, which is why they're not ever at home. I think that's awfully funny, considering how they're, you know, sitting right in front of us, not going anywhere. And not arguing."

"I know. That's the story Mr. Yagami made up for his wife and daughter to excuse his and Light's absences, under my suggestion."

"Suggestion?" Is that what he's calling it? Oh, how tempted she is to use his head as a bongo, right now. He's certainly uptight enough to be one, and at the same time, hollow inside. "W-well, what the hell, man? You're lying to a little girl about why she can't see her own father and older brother? Has there never been a point in your life where it wouldn't have killed you to tell the truth, a-and not make up some tall tale, since like, the moment you were born?"

Just before this, he'd lied to Light about criminals not dying anymore since he'd been detained. He still is. Jesus.

What's worse, the truth in this case would be what most might consider the stuff of tall tales.

"I trust that Matsuda has already provided an explanation, thereby making it unnecessary for me to provide one."

"Ugh. Is it too much to ask to let the poor guys go see the family, Ryuzaki?"

"Mr. Yagami has insisted that he won't leave until Light's name has been cleared. Returning home this soon could compromise the cover story. As for Light himself, we made an agreement that I would not release him until I was certain if he is guilty or not."

"Yeah, well, I think it's getting pretty dang clear which he is."

"I'm afraid it's not your place to decide that."

"Look at 'em, Ryuzaki! They're miserable." She points towards the screen. "Can't you let them go home for at least one day, maybe let Misa go with them so she isn't left out?"

She's starting to sound childish, if she hadn't already. But how else can she speak to a guy who's three times as childish as her?

...

Come to think of it, has L ever needed to shave? She's never seen a stubble on him or anything. Admittedly, she's never thought that much about it. She keeps forgetting he's not a five-year-old brat who'd been slipped Miracle-Gro™ in his formula when he was in diapers (she wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he's still wearing diapers underneath those pants, if only so he wouldn't have to get up to use the toilet). "Dude, come on, it's Father's Day."

"And…?"

…

Wow. Woooow. That's all he has to say? A day for families to get together to celebrate being family, and all he has to say about it is a flat "And?"

The argument of "wouldn't you want to see your family today, too" won't work here. It's not important to him because he wouldn't know (or is it vise versa?). For the so-called world's greatest detective, he doesn't know anything, does he? Anything that matters, at least.

Should she feel bad for him, now, about not getting him anything? Or kick over his chair? She ends up doing the latter, or at least tries to. Had she known she was going to kick the underside of his chair, she'd have kept her shoes on (why hadn't she gone for the back, that would've knocked him over for sure, although when you're steamed at someone, you don't generally think about how you're going to kick them over, you just do it). Her foot barely lifts the piece of furniture two inches off the floor before it settles back down into its crop circles in the carpet. She does, however, succeed in smashing all five toes on that foot before toppling to the floor herself, a usual consequence for hopping around on one foot while clutching the other, howling in agony.

None of this perturbs L. He redirects his attention towards the monitor. "Aizawa, could you please help Miss Crocker to her room? And also, get her an ice pack."

Aizawa had been about to take another bite of daifuku when he growls to himself—something about praying that his daughters don't act like this when they get to be around Erin's age—as he puts down the box and guides her onto her feet. By now, she's too embarrassed to look directly at him.

"Thanks," she mutters.

"Don't mention it."

…

"Mr. Yagami, a package for you. Mr. Matsuda delivered it here from your wife and daughter."

"Ah. Thank you, Watari."

Ryuzaki, while having yet to be as convinced of Light's innocence as Soichiro is, is merciful enough to allow a certain amount of contact between him and the outside. If one could consider the lies he's spun to his own wife of twenty years and daughter to be "contact."

Why would Light want to subject himself to such a thing? Have Ryuzaki's constantly voiced suspicions started to get to him? Has he been pushed to take such drastic measures just to prove that his hands are clean? His son has always kept a level head in times of pressure before, but he is still barely an adult.

Hell, if that's the case, is he not here for the same reasons?

Light has had absolutely no access to the media since his confinement began, and yet criminals continue to die. No, he could never be happy about people dying, criminals or otherwise, but surely it won't be long until Ryuzaki accepts Light's innocence, incredibly stubborn as he is. He's said once, he may chiefly suspect Light because they don't have any other suspects.

As much as he respects the detective, there's no way someone who's only known Light for a few months would know him better than his own father (even if his job has often kept him away from home for most of his upbringing).

But Ryuzaki doesn't just randomly suspect people, even if he appears to be to the others.

Light is a brilliant if aloof young man...but not deviously so. His pride and sense of justice are strong, but not warped. Not nearly as warped as Kira's, and definitely not so narcissistic. Light would never force his ideals on others like Kira does...

Soichiro folds his extra clothes as neatly as he can as he places them at the corner of his bed, along with the box of confections and…a razor. He briefly wonders who gave him these. One of the men, or perhaps that American student. They're not from Sayu and Sachiko, though; these wagashi are store-bought.

The small but elegantly wrapped box inside the bag? That is definitely from them. Who else would include a carefully wrapped bouquet of white carnations, daisies and snowdrops, and homemade seiōbo, peach-shaped wagashi?

It takes nearly all of the resolve he has not to cry.


	2. Switch

If this nonsense doesn't end soon—or right now, if she had her way—she doesn't know how much more of this she can take. No, this isn't about just her; if she feels this crazy, she can only imagine how Mr. Yagami and the kids are holding up, bound and locked up like animals while she still has enough freedom to swing back and forth between school and "headquarters" with supervision. Meanwhile, Kira is back and badder than ever, and Ryuzaki's acting like it's not even happening in their plain view (for no other reason but to milk a lousy, worthless confession out of Light).

She decides to rebel through non-violent protest that borders somewhere between kindergarten obnoxiousness and passive-aggressive bitchiness. A coward like her in her situation has no other means to get Ryuzaki to see the light (as in reason, not the boy he's been obsessively watching for weeks on end). Well, there's probably the diplomatic way, but she and diplomacy are estranged cousins three times removed, and Ryuzaki…well, he's just an idiot, in his own savant way.

Her weapon of choice? The light switch to her right as she and Matsuda come into the room.

It's almost as dark as a dungeon in the room where he's watching the three on camera, shades drawn and all. She makes sure to accidentally-on-purposely flip the lights on as she passes it.

Click. 

The Lord said, "Let there be light," and there was light. 

She hopes it hurts his eyes enough to pull his attention away from the kids. Maybe he'll hiss like a vampire exposed to sunlight and duck under the chair he's crouched in?

"Miss Crocker, please turn off the lights." If he so much as blinks at the brightness flooding the room, she doesn't see him do it. He keeps his head and back to her, the entire time. How did he know that she was the culprit without looking behind him?

It takes her a moment to collect herself before snorting, "Why should I? I think you should leave the lights on. Watching TV in the dark, boy, you're gonna ruin your eyes, that way. If you haven't already."

"It's too bright in here. I can't see the monitors as well."

She face-palms. "See? It has already happened! If you've got such a problem with it, you turn 'em off."

"You're closest to the switch. Besides, you turned them on in the first place."

On the one hand, having Ryuzaki not look directly at her gives her enough confidence to cut him an attitude. On the other, it drives her bonkers, because he's still not paying attention. It doesn't count if he just speaks to her. One can't win with Ryuzaki. But one can try.

"You may be my captor, but you ain't the boss of me." She leans up against the wall and folds her arms, trying to look and feel tough, like one of her hard-boiled noir fiction heroes.

God forbid he gets off his lazy duff to turn them off himself, to do anything productive, really. And he can't ask Watari to do it; he's away tending to the other three captives.

So he asks Matsuda to please turn off the lights, instead.

"Huh? O-okay."

Click. 

She can't help but feel betrayed, however slightly. Ryuzaki may not be her boss, but he is Matsuda's. Shucks, the reason she and he are together every day is because Ryuzaki said so.

"How's that, Ryuzaki?"

"Better." He doesn't even thank him. Naturally.

Click. 

Poor Matsuda. Now it looks as though he's going to be caught in the crossfire. "Elin? He said that he wanted the lights off." Click. 

Oh, how she wishes for once he'd back off. This is between her and Ryuzaki. "W-well, maybe I want the lights on." Click. 

Click.

Click. 

Click. 

Click. 

ClickClickClickClickClick—

The air pops with the sound of two anxious hands flicking the switch, the staccato shifts between light and darkness causing them both to see spots. It's a wonder how they haven't blown up the fuse box, yet.

Until Ryuzaki—still without granting either of them attention—mutters, "Miss Crocker, are you finished? I'm going to have to ask you not to touch that switch again."

She blows a quick raspberry. "Or what? Is somebody gonna blow up if I do?" Matsuda breaks out into a greater sweat when she rests her finger over the device, ready to flip it. "Look, I'm touching the—"

"For God's sake, will you two quit screwing around with the lights? Are you trying to give us all seizures or what?"

…

One of the many maddening things about Ryuzaki is that he never loses his temper, at least, from what she's seen. Why should he, when he's got Aizawa to do that for him? He's got people to do everything for him.

(This PS is taking a toll on everyone.)

As soon as Aizawa rears his afro and magenta-tinged face, Matsuda quickly retreats like a whipped dog. "S-sorry, Aizawa."

She is equally timid. It's hot and cold with Ryuzaki, but Aizawa's frequent temper flares could make her lose her nerve every time. Jabbing an accusing finger in Ryuzaki's direction, she blurts, "He started it."

He still doesn't find them worthy of his attention. "If I recall correctly, you started it, Miss Crocker. I haven't done anything."

She pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Exactly."

Why does he think she'd done this to begin with?


	3. Independence

About thirty-four days into Light's confinement—thirty-seven into Misa's—he asks Matsuda upon his return with her from the To-Oh campus why they are almost two hours late.

Assuming that they've done nothing wrong, she replies with a satisfied grin, "Wow, you were keeping track? Relax, Ryuzaki, we were just out fooling with fireworks." Matsuda tugs on his shirt collar, his grin more sheepish.

He resists the reflex to glance back at either of them. After all, he can't afford to take his off of Light or Misa for even a second. If he recalled correctly, fireworks were dangerous. "Mr. Matsuda, why would you allow Miss Crocker to play with fireworks? Either of you could've been seriously injured."

"What are you, our mother? I wasn't by myself. Matsui was with me, the whole time. He could give you a complete play-by-play, if you wanted."

Neither of them is terribly good at lying. "W-well, Ryuzaki, since it's July fourth and everything, and Elin said that July fourth is Independence Day over in America, and she wanted to see fireworks, I thought it would be okay if we celebrated. A-a little." He hastily adds, "W-we didn't do anything big, I promise! Just firecrackers and sparklers and stuff."

She had been feeling particularly homesick today, lamenting to Matsuda about how she would be spending the holiday cooped up in a "crummy" suite instead of watching the annual fireworks spectacular with her family in New York.

"Have you brought any back?"

"No. Why, did you want some?"

"No, thank you. I'd better have Watari check you and the vehicle, in case you have brought fireworks here without my knowledge."

"What? I thought you were all-knowing," she snorts.

He'd had a feeling that assigning Matsuda as her chaperone wouldn't be the best idea. No good chaperone would let a witness toy with fireworks for any reason. But he can't worry about coming up with an adequate punishment for either, not when he has suspects to watch. Even though the killings have resumed some two weeks before…

Besides, out of everyone on the team, Matsuda fits in the best in the college setting. And he has to utilize him somehow. Not to mention, he keeps her preoccupied. The pros currently outweigh the cons.

Scanning Light's lurched form in his cell, he says, "From now on, I expect you two to return straight to headquarters after school. If you do this again, I will have to reassign another member of the task force as Miss Crocker's chaperone. If you truly wanted to watch fireworks, I'm sure you can watch them on TV."

He hears her groan. He knows of her frequent complaints of having to be here. She wouldn't have to be here at all if it weren't for that reckless, nosy attitude of hers.

She chokes, "Yeah, but it's not the same! Geez, Ryuzaki, your eyes must be so fried up from watching monitors all day, you wouldn't know fun if it came up to you wearing a rainbow wig and a big tye-dye T-shirt that said, 'Hi, my name is Fun. How's it going?'"

She doesn't see him pout. Personally, he would find such an individual rather suspicious. "Perhaps, but at least watching it on TV would be safer. Other than that, I see no difference between the two."

Seeing that he can't be reasoned with, she has no rebuttal; since Matsuda is clueless (and not really the argumentative type anyhow), neither does he.

For an ultra-genius, he knows disturbingly little about life beyond the monitor.


	4. Leader

When her ancestors first touched American shores, Lady Liberty had been the first to greet them, torch ablaze and tablet clutched tightly in her arm, but just loosely enough so they could see what her country had to offer them: opportunity, equality, liberty. The Great Famine had chased her Irish farmer ancestors—Mom's side—across the pond, where they duked it out in factory-run tenements to stay alive.

The Swiss roots on the tree—Dad's side—broke away from employment with the Invicta™ Watch Group and set out to promote original watches crafted by Stefan Bragger (who was known for dreaming too big and getting in too far over his head, almost like his great-great granddaughter). That pipedream never exactly made it off the ground, but he managed to make a decent-enough living for the family repairing clocks and pawning antiques in the Red, White and Blue under the surname "Blogger" (due to an error while registering at Ellis Island that was never fixed).

Proud as she is of her lineage, Erin is American, right down to her hot, throbbing core. She was born and raised American, as were her parents, and their parents before them, and their parents before them, for the most part. And she needn't have her arm twisted to remember why she's proud to be so.

Davey is but one on her laundry list of reasons.

"Matsu, you can make it through the light before it turns red! Step on it!" Telling an officer of law enforcement to speed through a traffic light? What a joke!

"Wh-what's the rush, Elin?" her chaperone asks, reasonably flustered by her pushy request as he fumbles his grip on the steering wheel.

"Davey's gonna be making his address, and I can't miss it," she huffs. "And if traffic here is anything like it is back home—or worse—he'll be halfway through it by the time the light turns green again."

"Davey…oh! You're talking about the President of the United States, aren't you?"

"Who else could it be? I never miss his speeches. Sure, I can always watch clips online, but it's not the same." President David Hoope is her hero, or at least one of them. A man of strength and integrity, he's a hero to most Americans, really, as a president should be. She'd been too young to vote when he'd first run for office, but the first thing she'd done upon turning eighteen (besides throw a party) was to get registered for the next election. Farley had been lucky, having been old enough to register and vote, that year. Just to be a snot, he'd waved around his new card in front of her like a badge, striking all sorts of poses and announcing in a faux agent's tone: "Farrell Blogger: licensed to vote Democrat."

Besides, she may be studying here, but that doesn't mean she doesn't also want to keep tabs on her own country, in the meantime, especially in times like these.

But perhaps she shouldn't be so in-your-face about her patriotism? Matsuda loves his country just as much as she loves hers; they all do (except for He-With-Too-Many-Aliases, who seems to have no attachment to any country whatsoever), but they don't rub it in. They show their love of country by risking their lives to catch an elusive and possibly psychic criminal mastermind who's terrorizing it into gradual submission.

Actually, Kira is supposed to be the subject of tonight's address, and not simply because he's all everyone wants to discuss, these days. While the bulk of his killings have been concentrated in Japan, he's also been hitting just about every country housing hardened criminals (which would unfortunately mean just about every country in the world, including America). Kira meant it when he said he wanted to create a new world.

Even more specifically, President Hoope is probably replying to the statements made by the Prime Minister and a few members of Japan's Diet, barely days ago. Erin had thought it bad enough that L's been dragging his feet—or more like, not moving an inch at all—but now it seems as though even the government is starting to follow suit. Mr. Prime Minister had publically expressed support for the mysterious vigilante's efforts to control the crime rate, slowing debate between the other Diet members to a grinding halt ("With all due respect for the men and women in our law enforcement, this is considerably more than what I can say about their efforts to maintain order").

In fact, some of the junior members have been following the Prime Minister's lead and echoing his sentiment on the issue among tightly-knit circles made up of anxious members of the press.

"It's wrong to kill people, but countries still fight wars and execute criminals. The problem is that it's difficult to eliminate the people who deserve to die. If you ask me, if the right people die…then Kira may just be doing this country a great service. In that sense, maybe we don't need L or the police?" 

News travels fast, with today's technology.

"Kira is a weed disguising itself as an olive branch: he masquerades as a force of justice promising a golden era of peace and prosperity, but resorts to acts of terrorism and mass murder to achieve these ends," President Hoope declares with a fist pounding into the podium. "He's draining this society of the principles upon which society is founded—that being liberty, equality and democracy—all in the name of a selfish, evil desire to dictate the world. America is not and will never be fooled into believing otherwise simply because he's eliminating people who are thought to 'deserve to die!'"

That's Uncle Sam, the loud overbearing big brother taking on everyone else's problems like they're his, too (especially since this problem is slowly becoming the States', without a doubt).

Yeah, you tell 'em, Davey, she cheers in her head, her pulse buzzing in her ears as the roar of the crowds tears through the TV's speakers. She never once makes a sound until the address appears finished, even as Matsuda sits next to her focusing on the Japanese subtitles at the bottom of the screen. She doesn't want to miss a word.

God, if only her room had a TiVo™. She would've recorded Hoope's entire speech before forcing Buttcake to watch it. If he were watching this, maybe he'd be just that much more motivated. Probably.

What are her ears really buzzing from, though? From the adrenaline produced by the power of President Hoope's words, or from a mounting fear about the support voiced by the leaders of the country at the heart of this whole mess? What if they start making the police call off the hunt? Could they do that? Would they do that? With talk like that, the paranoid nail-biter in her if she didn't know better would've thought that the Diet was thinking about making Kira the Prime Minister, just because they like him so much and everything he's doing.

…

Do they genuinely support his actions? Or are they praising him out of fear for their lives? Like them, the President is, to say the least, a prominent figurehead in the political world. Kira could kill him any day of the week if he felt like it. He's got some stones to go up on TV and trash-talk him like that.

Not to say that the Japanese don't have stones, too, of course. Some of the bravest people she's ever met are Japanese. But after these latest developments…

Matsuda is polite enough to wait on giving his feedback until she turns off the TV and flops down on her bed, spread-eagle. "What a guy, our Davey is! If there are any real heroes out there, that guy is one of 'em!" Given her company, her remark is rather callous, though not intentionally so. Even she forgets who she's speaking to sometimes.

"Funny thing, though: he didn't mention anything about sending more agents or something to help out. Then again, it'd be pretty stupid to talk about doing something like that on TV, wouldn't it?"

America has sent FBI agents to Japan to aid the investigation (in actuality, to spy on the national police agency under L's orders, on suspicions that Kira had access to their information and therefore may have had some connection to them). All twelve of them—including Raye Penber, who had been tailing Light—were killed soon after, though nothing had been mentioned about their coming, prompting the FBI to withdraw from the case. Matsuda can't tell her any of this, though; he'd be throttled if he disclosed such sensitive information to a civilian.

What she doesn't know is that while America does generally oppose Kira, their little task force is pretty much on their own. Just the six of them…well, five, ever since Ukita's death at the Sakura TV station during the Second Kira's attack.

He hopes she doesn't hate him for what he's about to say. She's virtually the only one lately that he can be honest with in his opinions without worry of too much backlash…

He dares to sit on the edge of the bed next to her when she sits up again. "That was an awesome speech," he admits, thumbs twiddling between his knees, "but…is it right to write Kira off as completely evil?"

"Huh?"

"I've been thinking a lot about it, and…a part of me just doesn't believe that he is."

Sure enough, her eyes are as almost as wide as ping-pong balls. "What'cha talking about, Matsu? Don't tell me you think Kira ought to be the Prime Minister or something."

"No, I'm not saying that, and neither was anyone from the Diet. I don't really know if Kira is true justice, but…I think that he's trying to fight evil and change the world, in his own way. And well, the world has become a better place for people who live honest lives, if only a little. So maybe—"

"Is it really, Matsu? Or is it 'cause people are trying to save their asses? If it's the latter, I wouldn't call that real peace. That's like a bunch of kids playing nice at recess or else the schoolyard bully will nail 'em if they step outta line. 'Oh hey, you threw that soda can on the ground instead of recycling it, so don't expect to see tomorrow.' Maybe he hasn't gotten that picky, yet, but what's gonna happen if he does get like that?"

"I understand that," Matsuda insists, his head now hanging in growing frustration as his fists clench. "Believe me, I'm as aware of that as you. I-it's just that I can also understand the other side. I can see why all of those people call him a savior. For all of the people he's killed, so many have been saved because of him, have gotten a sense of closure for their loved ones through him."

Exhibit A: Misa Amane. She's bound and blindfolded at the moment because she worships Kira, who dealt justice that the legal system had failed to by offing her family's killer.

"It's…oh, don't hate me for saying this, but it's kind of like you with the President. You want someone you can depend on to stand up for you when you can't do it yourself."

Immediately, Erin's ego is about to go on the defensive—has he just called her a weakling, and how dare he compare Hoope to someone like Kira?—and her mouth shoots open to fire a snappy comeback when Matsuda shuts her down:

"I know because…when it comes down to it, I-I've always been a weak person, no matter what I tell myself otherwise. I could never accept Kira as a leader, and I know it's my duty to catch him—no, I want to catch him—but I can't bring myself to hate him, either. I don't know, I must be crazy. Or something…"

Whatever she was about to say fizzles out of her mind before it can reach the tip of her tongue.

She doesn't hate him for speaking his mind. How could she ever? Erin is a weak and fearful person, herself. Of course, she'd be inclined to think that the dropping crime rate is because of Kira's bullying people into keeping their noses clean. They've both been bullied in the past, whether real or imagined. They're the types who look for and cling to heroes, idols, leaders, people that they wish they could be.

Only difference between them is that she'd never admit this outright, like Matsuda has just done. She's so cowardly, she won't even admit that he may be right about her admiration for President Hoope.

That will not sway her into supporting Kira, though. Even if he isn't inherently evil, even if he is helping people, how can Matsuda deny that he's still taking away all of the things that she's been raised on, that people from America and most other nations have been raised on, that their ancestors migrated for?

After a while of puzzling until her puzzler is sore, she pats Matsuda's back. "No. You're not crazy. At least, not as crazy as you might think. In fact, you just gave me an idea…"

As Matsuda watches her with a curious look, she clamors across the bed to flip open the laptop sitting on the bedside table.

"Yes, Miss Crocker?" 

"Yeah, hi, Watari. Listen, can you do me a tiny-whiny favor? Can you look up clips of Japan's Prime Minister and President Hoope's statements on Kira and send them to Ryuzaki? I don't know his E-mail…given that he has one. I just think he ought to watch them. Is that okay?"

"Very well." 

"Thanks, Watari!"

She closes the laptop, quite proud of herself for the moment that she doesn't consider the possibility that L will just ignore the clips, like everything else that isn't coated in sugar. "What was that about?" asks Matsuda, scratching the back of his head.

"Let's just say that a car runs on a battery; when the battery's dead, you need to jump-start it."

It's true, she can't do anything about it. But on the other hand, the guys who can do something are short-handed, caving in to public opinion, or sitting on their bony duffs, ignoring what's going on while they waste their time interrogating the wrong people.

So if she can't do something about Kira directly…

Why not keep pushing the leader behind the resistance? She's American. She should be an ace at protest to the point of obnoxiousness. Who knows? With her talents and their tenacity, maybe if she and the gang annoy him enough, he'll come to his senses? Isn't that how most major changes occur?

One thing she's sure of, he can't get away with this. Neither of them can, no matter how much support they get.


	5. Hunger

Thwop!

"What the hell'sa matter with you?"

Thwop!

"Is there no line that you won't cross? I don't care what your 'reasoning' was for doing that; you could've really messed them up!"

Thwop! 

One by one, the projectiles bounce harmlessly off of their bored-looking target, like bullets off of Superman™. "Miss Crocker, I took the liberty to take us aside so we could discuss this civilly," he says with a blank expression on his face and hands buried in his pockets, almost as if it had been so much trouble to pause his schedule and step out of the room where the rest of the task force waits. "It would be appreciated if you stopped throwing pillows at me, now."

After learning from Watari what he was up to, she had barged into the room just as he and Light had struck up their agreement to stay together until Kira had been captured, whereupon she, to the utter bewilderment of the task force, chucked a pillow at the back of his head. Luckily the camera was one-way so Light and Misa wouldn't have been able to see what was happening on his end. Coolly excusing himself, he had entered the next room to be greeted by a bombardment of pillows—collected especially for him—fired by a fuming Erin from across the room.

Watari, you were supposed to keep her distracted…

"What's that? Stop throwing pillows at you? You want me to start throwing vases, dishes? How 'bout my fist, instead?"

He blinks at her. She wouldn't do that. She's more or less a puppy with the bark of a pitbull. Otherwise, ceramics would be flying by now, rather than pillows. "I don't think there's any need for that, but thank you for offering. Anyway, Yagami and Amane are safe, at least for the time being, so I fail to see the point you're trying to make here."

With a pillow clutched in her hand dangling at her side, she sputters, "Wh-what point am I—how would you like it if someone put you through that? How would that make you feel? Hm…wait. There's really no point in wasting time trying to figure out how you feel after all, is there?"

He tilts his head, scratching the back of it. "What makes you say that?"

She bites her lip. You're L. You don't have feelings. You're not supposed to have feelings. You're just an android masquerading in a latex human suit who thinks you've got humanity all figured out, like a crossword puzzle. But you don't. Not even close. 

"You're too hardcore to feel anything. You must be, to put the three of them through a mess like that."

The room falls into a long, thick silence. He can see by the way her hands twitch that she's toying with the urge to launch another pillow, but she doesn't. She wants a reaction out of him, some kind of proof that he is a sentient being like everyone in this suite and not just an empty shell of such. Mild annoyance, anything at all. But getting such a reaction from him is like sitting out in the rain, rubbing two wet sticks together to start a fire. Nothing she throws at him sets even a spark, none that she can see, anyway.

He hooks the tip of his finger into his mouth. "Perhaps I shouldn't have feelings. I have no use for them. Emotions tend to create more problems than they solve."

…

He locks eyes with her. "But, that does not have to mean I feel nothing."

A skeptical frown bends the corners of her mouth. She now clutches the pillow with both fists held in front of her, like she's putting up a shield. Can he see right through her, down to her bones, like an X-ray? It feels like it, and she doesn't like it one bit. "O…oh yeah? Just what kind of things do you feel?"

Didn't she just say that figuring out his feelings would be a waste of time?

He lightly sucks on his fingertip. He had left his half-eaten cantaloupe in the other room, and he can taste faint traces of the succulent fruit lingering on his skin. "Hunger."

"Hunger? Pfft. That's not a feeling."

"Why not? It's a physical sensation, isn't it?"

"That's just something everyone has so we have the sense to put food in our bellies, once in a while. With all the hustling we do, we'd probably forget to eat if our stomachs didn't let us know when we're running on empty. It's an instinct. Animals get hungry, hell, even plants. Photosynthesis and all. But that's not an emotion."

"The sensation of hunger starts in the brain, just like a typical emotion. It's greatly influenced by other emotions, too, isn't it? When you're upset, do you typically think about eating?"

"Well, no…unless, y'know, I'm cranky because I'm hungry. If I had to take a guess, you're too far above petty emotions like that; seems that every time I see you, you either have something in your mouth or something on its way there. D'oh, why are we even talking about being hungry, anyway? This is about you being a wad and not caring about it."

Gnarled locks of stray brown hair fall across her face and down the sides of her neck. Thin dark circles line her eyes from weeks of broken sleep fitful with fear and resentment towards the man staring back at her. She holds up the pillow a bit higher.

He finds himself sucking on his finger harder than before, and mutters, "I must admit, I'm disappointed. For someone who supposedly aspires to be a writer, you are rather narrow-minded."

"I-I'm narrow-minded? You keep those kids locked up because you think that they're guilty of something they're obviously not guilty of, then you have the boy's dad take them out to the middle of nowhere and pretend to shoot them like they were Newbery™ dogs, and I'm narrow-minded? Why, just 'cause I think you have a screwy way of doing things?"

That's enough to provoke her into chucking that last pillow at his head. It hits him square in the face before plopping to the floor. He doesn't even flinch. She tries without much avail to hide her nervous gulp when she realizes that she's out of ammo.

"At this moment, it seems you're only thinking of hunger by its literal definition, meaning the need for food and nutrition. But hunger…hunger can mean other things, can't it?"

He steps over the pile. Watari can pick those up, later. "If my understanding is correct, it can also mean…want."

He identifies the wide look in her eyes as something between confusion, wariness and frustration. "Want? Is that what you said? Want of what?"

"Oh, anything, really. Money, power, fame, an attractive partner…people are prone to want anything, and if they want it badly enough they'll do whatever it takes to get it. Even if it means committing a crime, one as atrocious as murder."

He's been walking towards her all this time, and a part of her wants to run for it, he sees it in the way she fidgets, but her stubbornness won't let her act on it. She's trying to be brave, here. Let big bad Ryuzaki come at her, what's the worst he can do to her? She'll give him a wallop if he pulls anything, right?

When he feels his lips twitch with what feels like a smile blooming, he digs his thumb into the corner of his mouth, pulls his lips back down. "In fact, perhaps it would not be too far of a stretch to say that all other emotions stem to an extent from hunger."

"Wh-what d'ya mean?"

"Consider how you feel when things go your way. Are you not happy or at least content? Most people are when they get what they want, aren't they? At least until they see the next best thing, then the cycle starts again. When you don't get what you want, or you come across a circumstance that you don't want, don't you typically feel sad? Angry? Fearful?"

He's got some kind of gall to be preaching about emotions he's probably never felt for himself and reducing them to inane responses to a basic urge. He doesn't know what he's talking about, she's almost fairly sure of that. He just likes to hear himself talk, just like how he likes to eat sweet things or suck his thumb or chew his fingernails down to the bone.

"Hmph, and what could you want? You've practically got the police eating out of the palm of your hand, don't you? You're the best in the world at what you do, and loaded to the gills. Compared to most people, I would say that you got it made. What could you possibly want that you don't already have?"

By this point, he's gone from standing seven feet to seven inches in front of her. Most might consider this kissing distance, under certain circumstances. She cringes ever so slightly, her face breaking out into its trademark blush. Her mouth hangs open, like she's temporarily lost the ability to close it. He's close enough to smell the distant scent of that melon shampoo she'd used in the shower this morning.

"I hunger for justice," is his reply, low yet flat on the delivery as his right foot reaches up to scratch his left calf.

She sneers at him. She didn't think he had it in him to say such corny things, with such lackluster, at that. He sounds like an old actor who's been saying his lines for far too long, no longer believing in their magic. Damn man, if you're gonna say something cheesy, at least say it like you mean it. "Is that right? You hunger for justice? That's your reason for everything? I—"

She's at a momentary loss for words. Then, her green eyes light up, like she's just come up with a witty comeback, and she doesn't hesitate to share it in a sputter: "Can you add more cheese to that baloney? Yeah, I'm sure you do; after all, that's where you get your fatass salary from. Not that I support what he's doing, but I'll bet you're so fixated on catching Kira because if he killed all the crooks, lowlifes and sleazebags in the world, you'd be out of a job."

She manages to work up enough courage to shove him out of her space, the closeness finally becoming too much for her to bear. "Although frankly, the way you've been acting, I wouldn't say you were much better than the competition…hey, if you find him, you should talk about going into business together or something. You'd have a gay old time, I'll bet," she spits. Was that supposed to be an insult?

He gets his footing back quickly enough, and his hands retreat back into his pockets. Actually, he could say he's already struck up a deal of that sort with Kira. At least, until his new proxy is captured.

And maybe he and Kira aren't that different from each other? He's never professed to being a hero or something close to that. Heroes save people from dying; he comes in after the fact, and even after he's caught the culprit and prevented more similar tragedies, it does not mend the damage already dealt. The world is at best marginally better with every case he solves, and then it's back to business. He's been at this for so long, it's just about become a game to him, now. Something to keep his own existence from becoming stagnant. It isn't as though he has anything else…

Kira is the same way, though newer at it, acting out of his own warped sense of justice, now mutated into a hunger for dominance. The world will not be any better after he's done with it, if not worse off, but his god-like arrogance will not allow him to see that.

There's a question in her eyes, in all of their eyes, that goes unspoken, but lurks in the corners of their minds. When will it be enough? 

"So maybe you're right? You can feel. Just not for others, I guess?"

"I do what I must."

"Aw, PS! You didn't have to have Mr. Yagami do that to them! They were innocent from the get-go."

He turns away. This conversation is going in circles. He can't convince her to accept his method, but at least he'll have laid out his rationale for it. "At any rate, they should be returning soon. I suggest that you stay in here out of sight until they depart for their own rooms."

"What? Why? Can't I go out and say hi?"

"I'm afraid that's not feasible, at the moment. It's better if they don't know that you're here." He's already headed for the door, leaving behind an increasingly disgruntled and puzzled Erin.

"Yo, I'm over here! You got something to say, say it to my face! Hey! Are you listening? Hell-oooooo?"

Click. 

…

"Oh, I see. Playing deaf now, are we? You're really good at that, has anyone ever told you," he hears her huff from the other side of the door. He waits for her to charge through there again with more pillows, but it doesn't happen. She's probably gone to cool off.

"D-did things get straightened out between you two?" asks Matsuda as he resumes his seat in front of the TV and examines the melon slices for dryness.

"I suppose. By the way, Mr. Matsuda, I should let you know, you're getting a new assignment," he announces without looking his way. He focuses his attention instead to the now black TV screen.

Matsuda almost jumps. "I-I am? What's the job?"

"Misa is going to have frequent contact with the public and I would prefer that nothing about the investigation be leaked. You will be watching Misa as her new 'manager,' Taro Matsui."

The young man gasps. "Oh my God, really? You'd let me hang out with Misa-Mis—I mean, of course, Ryuzaki. Whatever you need, consider it done," he corrects with a courteous bow from the waist, trying to cover over his fanboy outburst from moments ago. Of course, he'd have him supervise Misa. It isn't as though Matsuda is of any other use, at this time.

Matsuda pauses, as though there's something he's almost forgotten.

"Ah, but Ryuzaki, what about…you know? If Light and Misa aren't supposed to know that she's here, and I'm going to be with Misa, where does that leave her?"

He doesn't answer for a spell, knowing automatically who Matsuda is talking about. Her blushing face flashes through his mind, her somewhat nasally voice accusing him,

"So maybe you're right? You can feel. Just not for others, I guess?" 

He places the chunk of fruit he'd just had between his fingers back on the plate. Suddenly, he's not in the mood for melon, anymore. It must be the ham dressing the display; it had been left on for too long and has tainted the fruit. When Watari comes back, he'll have to ask him for something different.

"We'll…play it by ear."


	6. Dandelions

"Don't you just love dandelions?" she asks to no one in particular, though the four of them are occupying the same bench—well, two benches—overlooking the pond as they watch people pass by around them: some on foot, others on skates, some in couples and packs, others with dogs.

Misa and Light are seated in the bench two feet away, too preoccupied to acknowledge her, as Misa admires the elegant bronze crane fountain at the center of the pond with her arm entwined around Light's. Light watches Misa with a tense, wary look on his face. The only connection she has between her and them is the handcuff swinging quietly from Light's wrist, and she's not even on the other end of it.

Matsuda has disappeared to get food to feed the koi fish with, leaving L—strike that, "Ryuzaki"—as the closest she has to immediate company. Joy.

She loves everything about this park, but it's the clandestine cluster of dandelions flourishing by a leg of the bench that piques her interest, this time. They're her favorite kind, too: the white fluffy ones dotting the cracks in the concrete back at home.

Though her question is not directed at him, he lifts his head up from the comfortable spot on his knees, as lackadaisical as he's ever been. "I don't care very much about them, no," he says.

Why is she not terribly surprised with his reply? In fact, the only thing about it that surprises her is that he'd even answer her at all, especially since she hadn't been speaking to him. Most of these "double-dates" are this way; after all, it's not like they have very much in common. The only reason they are out together at all is because of Misa's power of insistence.

Upon seeing the plant in question clutched in her chlorophyll-stained fingers, he slips the tip of his thumb into his mouth. Naturally, it doesn't take him long to identify it.

"Hmm…Taraxacum officinale."

She blinks at him. "Huh? What's that? No, this is a dandelion. Dan-dee-lie-on."

"'Dandelion' is only its common name. Its scientific name is Taraxacum officinale."

How do you even spell that?

"Oh, potato, potah-to, tomato, tomah-to," she snorts. "Don't you at least appreciate them?"

"They don't bother me, at all," he mutters. "It's like I said, I don't care very much about them. They're common weeds."

She knows how stupid it is to get worked up over a comment like that, but honestly, has his life—or lack thereof—been that sheltered? "You're a weed."

…

Upon realizing how childish that sounds, she clears her throat. "I-I mean, yeah, I know it's a weed. But look at what you can do with it."

Her flushed cheeks inflate as she gathers all the air she can into her mouth before blowing onto the flower of the plant, unleashing a small flurry of seeds that climb on the breeze like tiny, eager, white wired umbrellas.

"Look at those babies fly." She watches them disappear into the four winds with eyes fluttered shut and a broad grin on her face, the color not yet leaving her face.

(As if it ever really does; her face is almost always blotched with red or pink, depending on her feelings, in contrast to his, which is constantly pale as paste.)

After the seeds have reached a distance when he can no longer focus on them, he cups his hands over his knees and presses his cheek against his knuckles. "Is something the matter?" he asks when her eyes remain shut for a considerably long time.

She sputters back into reality for about two seconds. "Huh, what? Oh no, nothing's the matter."

Not right now, anyway. 

"I was just making a wish, is all." She stops to rub the back of her neck before adding, "I used to do that a lot, when I was a kid. Pick up any dandelion I could see and blow all the seeds off of it, I mean. The whiter and fluffier, the better. Then I'd make a wish."

"I don't find any sense in doing that. I doubt that you ever had a wish granted that way." He's so crass, he can't even find it in him to be nice about the inanity of the ritual. He doesn't even ask her what she's just wished for. Not that she would've told him, though; that would be against proper wish-making etiquette. Not to mention how he has the talent of ruining just about every good little thing that comes along.

I wish you would get out of your dumb slump so we can get back to catching Kira. 

She scowls in response. "Well, I…I dunno, probably. Mostly I kinda wouldn't notice if any of my wishes came true because I'd have forgotten them later. Plus, it only really works if you can blow all the seeds off the stem in one shot. It's mostly for fun, if anything. Something that wouldn't hurt you to have more of…"

He rolls his eyes until he seems to be peering underneath his unruly bangs. "I personally find no productivity in mere wishing. If I want something, I go after it." Oh, yeah. Always the go-getter, he is.

You dirty hypocrite, then why haven't you made any moves toward tracking Kira in almost two lousy months, she wonders, but does not say aloud.

"Furthermore, if you've succeeded in making any wish come true, it would have to be the plant's. By launching its seeds into the wind, you fulfilled its need to perpetuate its species, thereby ensuring its survival. So congratulations," he deadpans. "You've just helped to scatter a potential 468 weeds across this park."

Had he calculated all of that in his head?

This prompts her to seize a second dandelion from the ground. But this time, she makes sure to blow the seeds right at him, into his stupid, smart-alecky face and hair. The slight sadist in her delights in the way he hoists himself up to paw mildly at his face, almost like a kitten rubbing at its cheeks with a soft, almost inaudible grunt.

"All right then, tough guy. Let's see how you feel when you've got 468 dandelions growing outta your coconut," she declares. "Maybe you'll appreciate them a little more, since you'll have them with you, all the time. Clearly, that's your problem, I think. Just like how you don't appreciate people because you're not around them enough, even if they're the most dedicated, can-do guys you'll probably ever meet."

She means this to be a jab at his self-imposed funk, but isn't it the truth?

He slides her a cool glance as he lifts his wrist to show her the cuff that links him to the boy on the other bench, as though mutely reminding her what exactly he's been doing for the past few months in terms of interpersonal relations.

Tossing the bare dandelion into the fresh-cut grass behind her with a stubborn "Hmph!", she crosses her legs and leans back until the sun is almost directly in her eyes. This prompts her to tuck her hat over her eyes to give them shade. "You're the only guy I know who can take something as nice as dandelions and make it into a problem. I mean it. In the immortal words of Linus™: of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you are the Charlie Browniest."

She's not even sure if he knows that much about pop culture, much less enough to appreciate the reference. He's like the Charlie Brown™ to her Lucy™, sometimes. Or the Lucy to her Charlie Brown. Sometimes she can't tell.

Neither she nor anyone notices the pinch of tiny dandelion seeds that he, almost three minutes later, painstakingly plucks off of his face to sprinkle onto her shoulder.


	7. Pocky

In all of her time in the country, she's had yet to try the Japanese snack delicacy known as pocky. Therefore, when she sees a street vendor selling it, she just has to give it a shot. No use studying in a foreign culture if you don't immerse yourself in it as fully as possible, or at least, as fully as she can, in the current living arrangements she's in.

"What do you mean, you've never had pocky?" squeals Misa, like this is some sort of social injustice that Kira has not yet tackled. "We'd better fix that!" She slaps a few bills' worth of yen in front of the bewildered vendor. "Two orders of kiwifruit mango pocky, please."

"Wh-whoa, hang on, Misa," she stammers, a tad flustered that Misa-Misa, a celebrity, would want to buy something for her on a whim. "I don't want to get a real convoluted flavor when I don't know yet if I'm even gonna like it."

Misa pouts, "No one can not like pocky, Elin. It's physically impossible. Even Light likes it, and he's a picky eater. Besides, kiwifruit mango is the flavor of the season. But, if you really want to pick a different flavor, go ahead. Misa will get kiwifruit mango."

So Misa gets that, while she chooses something basic. Chocolate. The proverbial toe-dipping to check the water. Misa and company exchange bows of gratitude with the vendor before continuing on their way, with Misa waving her pocky under Light's nose as she attempts to share. With little comment beyond the obligatory "thanks, Misa," Light accepts a stick.

She, on the other hand, has barely gotten her nails into the package containing the frosting-encased biscuit sticks, when a third hand—pale, spidery, not terribly trustworthy—pokes in from out of nowhere to steal it away.

"H-hey! Ryuzaki!"

"I wouldn't place too much trust in food obtained from a street vendor," he says. "I should take a sample, to make sure that it's safe."

She can't catch on fast enough when she watches him hand-pluck and nibble a chocolate-coated stick down to the stub, then turn one stub into two stubs, two to three…

"Okay, I think they're good. Can I have them back, now, please?" she asks as politely as she can while reaching out to grab feebly at the pocky that Ryuzaki keeps out of her reach.

"One more sample…"

His gluttony knows no boundaries, it seems. Ryuzaki has once claimed that the secret to keeping his weight—or lack thereof—maintained is that he uses his brain, frequently, to burn the calories. Coming up with ways to freeload food off his company must be one of his ways to work up an appetite.

He's pretty much the one who gave her the revelation about the meaning behind those warnings from park rangers about feeding wild animals.

Light snatches the package of chocolate pocky from Ryuzaki's hands—who oddly enough puts up little resistance with a stick still dangling from his lips—and hands it back it her, like the gentleman he is. "That's enough, Ryuzaki. If you can eat five sticks in a row from the same package, I don't think it's unreasonable to assume that the rest are edible, too."

"Yeah, you pig!" she snaps, too angry to savor the moment she is about to taste her first stick of pocky as she draws one from the package. Why must Ryuzaki ruin everything? "If you're so concerned with safety, why don't you try some of Misa's? We got these from the same guy, in case you weren't paying attention."

"He doesn't need to, they're fine," insists Light, quickly and wisely enough. "I already checked." Misa naturally concurs with him by clutching her pocky possessively to her chest. Should Ryuzaki ever get his paws on it, she'd never get it back.

But Ryuzaki does not cave under pressure or reproach. He and shame are estranged cousins fifty times removed. "Indeed. Anyway, I was more concerned about you. I'd hate it if you came down with food poisoning when I was there to prevent it."

…

…

She has no idea where that just came from. Ryuzaki has never expressed concern for the welfare of another human being before, at least, not within her earshot. Either way, it chokes her up.

No, really. No sooner than she's heard this, she finds herself with a chunk of chocolate biscuit lodged in the wrong pipe. Her vision begins to swim as her hands cast away the pocky to wrap instinctively around her throat. She fights to alert her friends of the situation, and panics all the more when no words will come out. Just an ominous string of staccato gagging that she isn't even sure is coming from her.

Death by pocky: even Kira couldn't be this cruel to issue something like this on someone. Or could he?

Misa shouts in horror. Light curses to himself as he rushes over to do the Heimlich maneuver, but a certain glutton beats him to the punch, since he's closer. For a precious moment, Erin couldn't care less who owns the hands that wrap around her abdomen and deliver a series of swift thrusts into the bottom of her ribcage to force the sweet menace out onto the concrete. When one is tangoing with death, they have no time to care for such things.

When it registers in her mind that oxygen is flowing freely to it now, she keeps her hands around her throat, this time to nurse the scratchy sensation lingering within it.

A familiar monotone chides her, "I warned you about that pocky being unsafe. Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I—I think so. Nothing broken except my dignity," she mumbles, wishing for the overwhelming gaze of a dozen rubbernecks to turn away already, real or imagined.

She expects the pair of arms to withdraw after that. They don't. They stay loosely wrapped around her, as though Ryuzaki had never learned what to do beyond the moment when the guy stops choking.

That's when she starts to care about whose hands these belong to.

"Uh…Ryuzaki? Your…your hands?"

"Hm? Yes. I suppose they're not needed there, anymore." As though she hadn't been choking just seconds ago, he slides his hands into his pockets. Even he knows well enough not to eat food off the ground, an awful waste as it is.

Clearing her throat for good measure, she manages, "Thanks. For…you know, knowing how to do the Heimlich maneuver and all. You—you saved my life."

Without batting a single lash, Ryuzaki replies, "Given the company I keep, I find it mandatory to know how to perform the procedure when necessary. You've just proven it."

Repeat: why must Ryuzaki ruin everything?

As a thought that she hadn't actually meant to vocalize, she grumbles, "I can't decide if you would make a wonderful boyfriend or the lousiest one on the planet. Maybe mediocre, at best."

By the time she realizes what she's just said, it's too late. The universe—and Misa—has already soaked it up. She can practically hear the mental squeal emanating from Misa's mind to hers, this time in sheer joy with a little amusement on the side.

Being the type who prefers to have the last word, Ryuzaki quips back, "Well, Elin, if it requires one to be exceptionally nagging and ungrateful to be called as such, then I'd say that you'd make an excellent potential…girlfriend."

That last word sounds unbearably funny coming from him, despite the clear articulation. Like he himself has never used that word before and is trying it out, to see if it fits his vocabulary.

Tilting the brim of her hat over her eyes, she scurries over to Misa to ask if she could try some of that kiwi-whatever pocky, after all. Anything to keep as separated from that boy as possible.


	8. Veggies

"Kid, if you keep eating like that, your body's gonna quit on you."

L is the middle of prodding at the strawberry from his cake with the prongs of his fork when she waltzes in unannounced and takes a seat on his left. These are her first words to him, the opening for another new argument.

Light doesn't pull his gaze away from the monitor, but types away as he mildly chides her, "Elin, whatever it is you want, could you please come back later? We're trying to work, and I don't think that this is any emergency that we should know about."

She waves from across the room. "Oh, I never said you had to stop working, Light. But this kinda is an emergency. Ryuzaki doesn't eat right. You like variety, don't you, Ryuzaki? So how come all I ever see you eat is junk food? Sure, we all like it, too, but you need balance, man. There's a lot more to the food pyramid than just cake and cookies and plain old sugar."

It's true, he does like variety, but there are many different kinds of desserts besides cake and cookies. As for balance, he already does apply it, in the way he sits while he eats and works. With his diet, sitting the normal way would slow his body down until he became drowsy and passed out from the sugar rush that usually occurs in people (like Erin). This would be where the 40-percent reduction of his deductive skills would arise. Crouching and maintaining balance requires enough sugar to keep his body aware and active, as tasks such as crouching consume more energy, thus keeping his body at a pace steady enough to prevent it from "crashing."

And regarding the "food pyramid…"

He taps the prongs of his fork to his lower lip. "I am meeting all of my nutritional requirements. This cake was baked with flour, so there's my grain. The whipped cream is a dairy product, the almonds contain proteins, and the strawberry is fruit."

"What about vegetables?"

"I don't need vegetables, nor do I care very much about them. I mostly take vitamins, instead."

She makes a face. "Vitamins? Bo-ring! Vitamins are flavorless little capsules that some chump manufactured. In a stuffy old factory," she adds redundantly.

"What's wrong with a nice, fresh, crispy vegetable grown from real soil with love?" she asks, with a cheesiness similar to advertisements.

"And pesticides," he mutters.

Her fingers drum on the surface of the desk with thinning patience. "Wow, Ryuzaki. When you smell flowers, you're only interested in finding the coffin, aren't you? Not to mention, you're being totally unfair. Those strawberries used to make your stupid cake could've been grown with chemicals, but you're more willing to eat them? What's up with that?"

He picks that moment to call her out on why she's really bothering him about his eating habits: "Miss Crocker, I know the only reason you'd willingly give me the time of day, never mind nag about my eating habits, is because you made a bet with Amane. 5000 yen if you could persuade me to eat vegetables."

…

"The look on your face confirms my suspicions. You have always been a horrid liar."

Light, his Misa-senses tingling, half-glances over his shoulder towards the door. Said idol, however, swiftly ducks out of view before he can catch her, taking extra care not to giggle or give any other sign that she's watching. He pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Erin, in the meantime, turns red as the ripest tomato. She has a dreadful habit of wearing her emotions on her face. "How can you say I've always been a bad liar? We've only known each other for a few months. And I ain't confirming nothing!"

That doesn't matter. A few months is more than enough time to know quite a few things about Erin, most of which he didn't even have to ask her about: her birthday (April 7th), her blood type (AB+), her birthplace (Queens, New York, United States), her current place of residence (Manhattan, New York, United States), her GPA upon graduating high school (3.35 at Eleanor Roosevelt High)…the list goes on.

"That's a double-negative. You are confirming something." He notes the way her throat tightens when she swallows.

"Well, I…I'm not confirming or denying anything, is what I mean to say. And even if I did just come down here because I'm trying to win a bet, you should at least give vegetables a try, either way. You know what happens to people who don't eat veggies?" She tries to count off the consequences from her fingers: "Hair falls out, teeth rot out, they get constipated, then hemorrhoids—"

"Okay, I've heard enough," grumbles Light. The monitor room is not a place to be discussing problems of the gastrointestinal system. "Elin, he's not going to eat vegetables even if you force-feed him, so I think you should go upstairs. You're creating an unnecessary distraction." Light is too polite to tell someone outright if they're being annoying, but his tone gets the message across.

"No, it's quite all right. She makes a valid point. Or at least, she's trying to."

Both of them stare at him, Erin appearing more astonished.

"I do? I mean, of course I do!" she proclaims, hastily shaking off signs of hesitation for confidence and rubbing it onto her shirt with her knuckles. "Glad that you're finally starting to see reason, Ryuzaki."

He wants to see just how far she's willing to go for that 5000 yen, make her squirm a little. "I do have one more concern: must vegetables be consumed plain?"

Erin looks at him like he's some kind of idiot. "What? No, of course not! You could eat them plain. Or you could have them fried, baked, boiled, grilled, steamed, seasoned…sometimes you can eat them with PB, cheese, soy sauce or salad dressing; I'm more of a ranch fan myself—"

"What about chocolate sauce?"

Her next face conveys even more disgust than the last. "Chocolate sauce? Now why would you wanna put chocolate sauce on a vegetable? Are you crazy? No, on second thought, don't answer that."

L fiddles with his lips, hooking his index finger into the lower one. "Why not? Have you tried vegetables with chocolate sauce?"

"Well…no. But that just isn't done. Chocolate is for ice cream and stuff."

"Then I propose an experiment. Have you brought any of these vegetables?"

"Ryuzaki!" Light barks. "You can't be serious."

"Uh…yeah. Can't get you to eat something if I don't even have it with me," she says doubtfully, plopping a plastic bag on the desk between them containing a carrot, broccoli, celery, and a cucumber. Meanwhile, he pulls out a small tub from inside a compartment labeled "Ryuzaki's Personal Sauce."

"Cucumbers aren't actually vegetables," he says. "They're fruit."

"You don't say? Do you like cucumbers, then?" she asks, eyeing the tub with a suspicious frown.

"I've never tried them. But that's why we are conducting this experiment."

Lights huffs, "You know what? Fine. Do what you want, guys. I'll just have to pick up the slack." He pushes his seat as further down the desk as the handcuffs will allow and turns away to bury himself in work. His loss.

"Let's start off with celery. I think you'll find that easiest to swallow," Erin says with a sneer, the bag crinkling as she fishes for the stick. "If we're gonna experiment, we'll need a control for comparison, right? So we've gotta eat it plain, first."

"I suppose. But you have to eat with me."

"Why? You think I poisoned everything in the bag or what? Aw, forget it. I ain't gonna argue with you. I didn't do anything, so I can't see where the harm is." She breaks it into two halves as equal as she can make them, then briskly snaps off a chunk of her share of celery in her teeth, the crunch echoing across the vastness of the room. "See? Nothing to it," she says between bites before swallowing.

He follows suit, except almost as soon as he takes a chunk, he sticks out his tongue to pluck it off and drop it into the wastebasket. It's crunchy, fresh, but with almost no flavor. It's like eating a plant; without condiments, that's really all that it is. "Hey, what the hell? You didn't even eat it!" Apparently, she needs him to chew and swallow for a chance to win that bet.

"I don't like it. It needs to be sweetened. Let's try it with chocolate sauce, now. No double-dipping."

"Wait. I gotta eat it with choc sauce, too?"

"Yes."

By the way she looks at the sauce like it's sewage, he almost begins to expect her to back down. Will she turn her back on the conventions she was raised on and desecrate her taste buds in the name of greed?

She splashes sauce on the desk as she tries to dip and chew as fast as she can. Apparently, yes. She almost snaps the stick in half in her fist as her face contorts to strange, watery-eyed expressions. Like she's fighting the temptation to throw her bite into the trash. Too bad she couldn't resist the allure of money.

Finally, she swallows, her forehead colliding with the edge of the desk, gasping for air. All he has to say to her is, "I will have to ask you to please not make such a mess. This is my personal sauce, after all." His voice betrays no sympathy, or any emotion, for that matter.

When he takes his chocolate-coated bite, he finds the taste of celery surprisingly more bearable. But not by much. Perhaps because celery requires something thicker than chocolate sauce. He spits it back out.

"Aw, come on!" she shouts, wiping the trickle of sauce from the corner of her mouth. "You didn't like that, either?"

"It was better, but it needs more. Suppose celery tastes better with caramel, instead?"

His hypothesis proves true. Celery is better with caramel. To him, anyway. He also notices how in spite of his swallowing this time, Erin doesn't leave (much to Light's chagrin, due to the obnoxious gagging she produces with every bite).

She must have bet Amane that she could make him try every vegetable in the bag.

Erin Blogger also has a habit of biting off more than she can chew.

…

At the end of the "experiment," L has decided he likes celery with caramel, broccoli with strawberry syrup, cucumber with whipped cream, and carrots with chocolate sauce. By the time Erin leaves the room (to Light's undying relief), she can barely walk straight.

"Thank you for your time and effort, Miss Crocker," he says behind her. "I'll file these findings away for future reference. Please come back if you have any new ideas for snacks." In her ears, it almost sounds like he's mocking her.

"Thanks a lot, Elin," mumbles Light. "You've helped to create a monster."

Create a monster? That guy was a monster before she'd even spoken to him. If anything, she's given him new material to drive everyone crazy with.

As soon as she steps out, Erin finds Misa waiting for her, greeting her with pity-filled eyes. "You catch all that, Misa?" she gurgles. Oh, how nasty her mouth tastes right now! There are no words to describe it besides "nasty." None that she can think of, at the moment.

The girl shakes her head. "Misa wouldn't have believed it if Misa hadn't seen it herself. Misa got queasy just from watching."

"You owe me 5000. I'm gonna need all the mouthwash I can get. He made me eat cucumber with whipped cream, Misa: quite possibly the grossest thing I'll ever taste in my whole life. I don't care if a cucumber's technically fruit; real fruit is supposed to be better with whipped cream. But it was the only way to get him to try it."

"Misa won't argue that." She slaps a folded wad of native currency into Erin's open hand as she toddles along beside her.

"Why does he have to have every bite coated in sugar, anyway?" Erin wonders aloud, hands clutching her churning stomach. "That guy needs to go to rehab, I swear to God, he does. He eats like a pregnant woman, practically. No, he's worse than a pregnant woman."

It's strange: she should be angry with him, and she is, but at the same time, his cravings are oddly worrisome. Who in their right mind would refuse to eat anything that wouldn't fix them on the road towards diabetes?

Misa shrugs. "Maybe Ryuzaki uses sugar to fill in a void? Like how some people rely on pills to feel better?"

Something about equating junk food to drugs sounds wrong to Erin, even more so when Misa guesses this so casually, like she's seen it happen every day.

(Then again, Misa is a model/ actress/ performer. For all she knows, she has seen it.)

"What kind of void could he possibly have that'd compel him to eat like that?"

Misa doesn't answer. She doesn't have one. Neither of them do. And even if they did, it more than likely wouldn't be in the right. Not when it comes to Ryuzaki.


	9. Premise

It seems that no matter where he goes, L can't sit normally—and he doesn't go to very many places, in the first place. He can't even sit right on the train they're taking on their way back from their day at the mall.

While Matsuda keeps his eyes trained on the map with his arms wrapped protectively around their boxes and bags, he sits with her and Misa, who are seated parallel to Light. Light leans back with his arms folded across his chest as he eyes L with a funny look for him. L continues to remain seemingly oblivious to the stares and curious pointing he's earning from little children as he clings to the pole like a primate, swinging lazily to and fro as his tattered sneakers keep him supported on the edge of the seat. That blockhead.

She rolls her eyes.

Misa leans over to whisper exactly what she's been thinking in paraphrase: "Ryuzaki can't seem to sit normally anywhere, can he?" She sounds almost sympathetic towards the guy, which comes across as a mild surprise since Misa seldom voices sympathy towards L. She must be in a particularly terrific mood.

"Nope. But that's Ryuzaki for ya," she answers, careful to keep her voice at the same decibel. "It's a shame. Whatever the heck he's doing, right now, maybe that'd be kinda cute. If he were a monkey."

Without actually thinking about it, she peers up towards the ceiling for a moment and mumbles, "Though he kind of already is a monkey, in his own way, isn't he?"

By the time she notices Misa's mischievous giggle, it's already too late. "Oh! So you think he's cute?"

It feels as if the train has braked dead in its tracks…and she wonders why she hasn't flown out of her seat into splatter against the door at the end of the car.

"What? N-no! I never said that!" she sputters a bit louder than she had intended, thrusting her hands out in front of her as though bearing a shield.

Her imaginary shield does nothing to protect her from Misa's finger as it playfully pokes the tip of her nose. "But Elin, Misa just heard you say it. You said that what Ryuzaki's doing would be cute if he was a monkey. Then you said that he already is a monkey. So, you think that his swinging around on the pole is cute. That is called a deductive argument," she says, as though quite proud of herself for drawing the conclusion before her American friend had taken the time to explain the premises.

Being Light's girlfriend must do that to a girl.

The heat from the late afternoon sun pouring through the windows suddenly becomes unbearable. "No, no, I didn't mean it like—look, what I really meant by that was—"

She almost kills herself in trying to get her point across, but something is keeping her mind from telling her mouth what it should say to help her save face.

In the meantime, Misa calls across the aisle with a grin, "Hey, Ryuzaki, didja hear that? Elin just said that you were cute! Like a monkey!"

He stops in mid-swing.

She doesn't even bother to see what Light's facial reaction to this is. Or Matsuda's. Definitely not L's. Instead, she buries her face under the safety of her hat, waiting for the floor underneath her to cave so she can drop out onto the tracks and out of the speeding train, regardless of whether that would kill her.

In a sort of final stand, she settles for grumbling, "No, she doesn't know what she's talking about. I would never say that."

And she remains under her hat for the rest of the ride, and for quite a while afterwards.


	10. Enmity

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

As much as she prefers to steer clear of clichés, Kiyomi can't think of anything else to describe the situation. This isn't just about being jilted; her honor has been compromised.

They'd been going out for a little over a month, since just after the beginning of the semester. She had approached him first, three days after the entrance ceremony; as one of the only two students who had gotten a perfect score on the entrance exam, he'd had the honor of speaking. Going into law enforcement, he'd said. Somehow, it suited him.

There was something about him that separated him from the rest of the male demographic at To-Oh, or the male demographic in general: a more mature air about him that made her look at him as an equal, intellectually as well as aesthetically, despite his freshman status. He valued honor and etiquette and fairness almost as much as she—maybe, dare she say it, even more so—and they couldn't run out of things to talk about if they tried.

Perhaps she could've shaken off Light's breaking up with her so suddenly (and rather unceremoniously, not that either of them were into that soap opera nonsense). While she didn't understand at the time why he'd wanted to end the relationship—or for that matter, why any guy would want to break up with her, it was usually her who ended it first—it had been cordial enough. "They would still keep in touch," they'd agreed.

But then the rumors start. A girl had showed up at campus one day that sent the schoolyard abuzz with excitement. A celebrity. The up-and-coming Misa Amane, who for some reason had approached Light first and had been, according to some, rather…affectionate towards him, calling him pet names and beaming at him as though they were a couple who had gotten quite comfortable with each other.

"How d'you think he knows Misa-Misa? Are they dating?"

"I thought Light was dating Takada?"

"Just goes to show that no guy is good enough for Miss To-Oh, after all, I guess."

"Maybe he's seeing them both?"

"Well, I went to high school with Light; he's never had problems attracting the ladies. If I remember right, he had three girlfriends during senior year alone…"

Like weeds, whispers of gossip spring up across the halls, throughout the classroom, subtle but smothering, taking root inside her ears and choking her mind with doubt. No way. Light's already moved on to a new girl? When? Assuming that he is in fact seeing Misa, it almost sounds as if he'd been…

No. Light has more class than that, seeing other girls behind her back.

On the other hand, in the time they'd been together, he hadn't looked as though he enjoyed her company all that much. Even in class where they'd sit next to each other, he'd spare her maybe a brief glance or two before fixing to stare out into space, as though preoccupied with something that he'd never shared with her.

She would've asked him about it personally, but for some reason, she hadn't been able to reach him ever since they'd broken things off. He wouldn't answer her voicemails or anything. In fact, he'd stopped showing up for school entirely. Strange, considering how committed he'd seemed to get his degree, to the point of showing up for class fifteen minutes early (and probably earlier than that if the doors were open).

"Hello?"

"Sayu, this is Kiyomi."

"Ah, hi, Ki-Ki! What's up?" Sayu addresses her as though she's one of Light's friends, rather than a girlfriend. Or ex-girlfriend, as it were.

"Is your brother around?"

"Um, no, he isn't, sorry."

"I see. Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Oh. Light doesn't really live here, anymore. He moved out a while ago."

…

"Is that right? Where did he move to?"

"Not sure. Light's been pretty private about that. Though considering who he moved in with, he'd probably want to stay private about it…"

The receiver is either getting too big to fit in her hand, or she's subconsciously trying to crush it. The cool in her voice clashes with the gears squealing in her head: "What's that? He moved in with someone? Who would that be, Sayu?"

She hears a gasp on the other end. "Stupid…s-sorry, Kiyomi, but I've said too much already. See ya later!"

Indeed, she has. Though she'd dropped no names, Kiyomi has already narrowed it down by the time the girl bids her a hasty good-bye.

Click. 

…

With information as useful as what she's got, what are the odds of bumping into him again? For that matter, why should she care about what he's doing anymore? They weren't even together for that long. She's not some soppy teenage girl who wastes her energy moping about "losing the (latest) love of her life."

And yet, there's something about how she, after all this time, sees him at the café—the one where they'd had their first date and stayed until near closing time—that makes all those feelings she'd been hiding underneath her poise fester all at once. She is there with him, making herself as comfortable as she can as she clings to his arm like an inflated blood pressure cuff, going over the details of her day. He's listening, just as he had with her, but by the worn look on his face, he isn't all that engaged in the conversation.

They aren't alone (though if this does any good for Kiyomi, it's too small of a relief for her to take notice). One of Light's friends is with him, the odd fellow. Hideki Ryuga, was it? No relation to the pop star. He's perched in his chair like an eagle about to take off at the drop of a hat, if he wasn't so occupied with the slice of cake in front of him. A girl is also sitting next to him. She looks familiar…oh it's that stupid American girl, from the looks of it. She can't remember her name, not that it's important. In fact, the only reason she remembers her at all is because of how disrespectful she'd been to her, cheerful as she was going about it.

Sounds like her Japanese has gotten somewhat better since their last encounter. The way her clumsy tongue bumps the words around, her awkward almost nasally accent butchering the language, still makes her cringe, though. Looks like she's annoying Ryuga to the fullest extent she can.

Actually, in a dysfunctional way, she can almost see those two together.

"Wow, nothing…what the hell could've happened to you that turned you into…this?"

"Nothing in particular happened to me. I happened. You can't reduce me to a mere set of influences."

"Uh-huh, yeah, right. Everybody's got a backstory, kid. You're not some cartoon character some cuckoo clock made up one day who didn't even bother to give you a past. But, if you don't wanna talk about it, I won't push it. I know how you are about private stuff. Unlike some people, I actually respect people's space."

"That's why you make it a point to immerse my head in the pleasant smell of your underarms whenever you can."

Her face goes blank for a moment, like a deer in the headlights. She hastily crosses her arms and scoots away.

Kiyomi never did like Ryuga that much. For someone who supposedly got the other perfect score on the exam, he's too trashy for her tastes. Why Light would spend time with someone like that is beyond her.

She has enough control of herself to hold her tongue, before she says something that could shame her. The group begins to take notice of her when Misa abruptly stops her chatter and glances at her. Before long, her wide brown gaze narrows, her red lips pursed into a frown. It appears she's staring her down, like a puppy jealous of her favorite chew toy. She could've sworn she'd heard a soft growl rumble from her throat.

"What's wrong, Misa?" Light asks. Kiyomi can't tell if his confusion is genuine or not. It looks real, sounds real, and yet she can't equate him as the confused type. Soon, all four of them are turning towards her direction.

The girl sitting next to Ryuga swallows, looking uneasy for a beat. "Oh, hi, Takada," she says with a timid wave. She must remember her too. "Didn't expect to see you here. How are you? Looking as pretty as ever."

"Thank you," she replies, out of instinct. She doesn't want to hear some idiot girl call her pretty. Why won't Light say that, like he used to? Exes can still be amicable enough to say that. "I never expected to see you here again, Light. It's been awhile."

Light nods and smiles. Something about that smile eats at her somehow, in a way she can't explain, at the moment. "Oh yeah, it has. How is school, Kiyomi?"

He speaks to her as though they've been keeping in touch for all those months, like he said they would. "Still on top. But, I should be asking you that. Where have you been? I haven't seen you at school for some time…is everything okay on your end?"

"Well…several things have come up for the past few months. I got sick and had to be hospitalized for awhile. Guess I was pushing myself a little too hard," he chuckles easily.

Hospitalized, huh? Not to say that she doesn't feel bad for him, but why hadn't he contacted her and told her about it? Weren't they friends? Unless he'd fallen into a coma or something similar, and there aren't many things that can leave someone comatose. Stress doesn't usually do that to a person, for sure.

"You were in the hospital?" she gasps, her fingers over her lips in surprise. "That's awful. Why didn't you tell me?"

Misa picks that moment to barge in, nearly knocking Light out of his chair in the process: "Because he was too busy trying to get better to think about some ex-girlfriend of his, that's why. Luckily, Misa was there to nurse him back to health every step of the way, and now not only are we dating, but we are also living together, almost like newlyweds. So there! Bleh!" She pokes her tongue out at her.

So this is the Misa-Misa.

Light dumped her for this? She's pretty and petite, Kiyomi will give her that, but it's more of a childish sort of charm, verging on the edge of creepy with those skull hairbands and spider-web stockings, with the bubbly poodle-esque personality that somehow fits and clashes at the same time. A vacuous blonde: far from the kind of woman she'd imagine Light to be attracted to. Could it be because she's famous and rich, or at least one of the reasons?

Light hadn't crossed her as the type to be that shallow…

She'd only dated him for almost a month, though…maybe a month isn't always enough to really get to know someone, who matter how intellectually stimulating your talks are?

The other girl adjusts the Fedora on her head, glancing at Ryuga as though she senses a battle on the rise and looks to him for a way to defuse the situation. But he has nothing to offer, except his unblinking cake-devouring spectatorship. This isn't his problem.

Kiyomi turns to Light. "Is that true, Light?" she asks, as coolly as she can. "You're living with Misa, now?"

He holds the back of his neck, looking slightly flustered. "Well, I wouldn't say 'like newlyweds.' We do live in the same apartment, but that's pretty much all we—"

"Oh, Light, must you always be so tight-lipped about your true feelings?" Misa cries (making Kiyomi cringe inside). "Don't keep stringing us both along; of course we're a couple! Go on and tell her that."

"I do find it strange that almost as soon as you and I stop seeing each other, you move in with another girl and stop talking to me altogether. I hate to jump to conclusions, but it almost sounds as if you've been seeing each other for some time..."

Light looks at her with concern, almost enough to make her melt inside, if it weren't for the fact that now she can't tell if it's real or not. "Taki…are you implying that I was—"

"How did you two meet, anyway?"

"Misa approached him first! Light could tell that Misa was nicer, sweeter, prettier and more generous than stuffy Kiyomi, so he decided to be Misa's, instead."

"Misa—"

…Kiyomi had been the one to make the first move, as well.

"Light has always been very popular with the ladies, hasn't he? It's almost a curse," Ryuga deadpans.

After twisting her head back and forth from watching the passive-aggressive jabs volleyball between the two, his lady-friend(?) jumps up with her hands up in yielding. "Whoa, whoa, ladies, please! Th-there's no need to brawl over this, is there? Not in public."

Not the best terminology. Kiyomi Takada does not brawl. "Brawling" is for the low-class types. All she's doing is trying to uncover the truth, soothe her injured pride. Misa? She's not so sure about.

If she hadn't had more class than that, she'd vaguely consider what the press, her fans would think about seeing Misa-Misa at her most unpleasant.

"Now, I may not know what's going on here exactly—"

Why is Kiyomi not surprised?

"—and I don't mean to be nosy or anything, b-but I think there's some tension, some, uhm, misunderstanding here that needs to get straightened out as soon as possible."

"Why? This is becoming fairly entertaining," says Ryuga, though he doesn't sound all that entertained in the least.

"Dude! You were a lot more helpful when you didn't say anything. Go back to doing that, not a peep." Her face red and flushed, she turns to Light and Misa. "Hey, Light…sorry to put you on the spot, but it sounds like it's you these two are squabbling over, so let's hear it. Are you Misa's man, or Kiyomi's?"

The air becomes thick with tension. Misa puts on her most charming face, confident that he'll choose her again. Kiyomi simply folds her arms. Whatever he says, she's not sure if it'll make much difference.

Light takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Kiyomi, you're a beautiful and good person, and I still like you as a friend, but I made a mistake aiming for a relationship while working towards my degree. There was just no way I could put an equal amount of my energy into both. I'm sorry if I hurt you; I never meant to."

"That's right," Misa declares. "Light couldn't stand how high-maintenance you are, always hungry for attention. What he needs is someone who will stick it out, no matter what, give him space."

"Yes. Cutting off the circulation to Light's arm and talking over him is the very definition of giving him space," mutters Ryuga, shoveling another chunk of cake into his mouth. The American girl facepalms.

Which makes Misa…

"Misa and I do live at the same place, but…we're not doing anything."

…friendly neighbors?

"Light-darling, I love you, but you really need to work on that shyness. There's no shame in dating Misa-Misa!"

If this "thing" they supposedly have is one-sided, why doesn't Light say so, then? Why not get a restraining order or move out?

…

"It seems I was wrong about you, Light. You really aren't that much different from other men. You're just better at hiding it."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean? How dare you attack Light like that!"

Kiyomi turns to Misa. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Misa. I wish the best of luck for you both."

Because sooner or later, he'll get tired of you and move on to someone else, maybe from right under your nose. Given your personality, I'd say it won't be long…

"Taki, wait—"

She's already turning her back towards him, closing the door. "Why should I believe anything you say, if you can't even be straightforward about what you're doing, or the women you see? I have no tolerance for people who go behind my back and make a fool of me, while they're at it. We're done, Light. End of discussion."

At least she gets the pleasure of ending it once and for all. She would slap him, but he's not worth any more of her attention. Let Amane deal any punishment she has for him.

By this point, Misa has sprung up so fast that her chair clatters to the floor. "That's right, little Kiyomi! Walk away with whatever dignity you still have. You're just jealous because I get the guy! Misa crushes all of her rivals!" she declares, loud enough to make several other patrons look their way. Light pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated.

"A smooth performance, Light," notes Ryuga dryly. "I think that defused the situation adequately enough."

Taking care not to look back, she holds her head high, masking the hurt that burns like a healing wound—her pride or her heart, she isn't certain—with her most graceful smile. The bell chimes softly behind her as she exits.


	11. Renovations

Erin Blogger doesn't appear to be in as big of a rush to go home as she initially had been. It's almost funny, now. When he'd first brought her into custody, she's protested until she'd turned blue that she "doesn't have forever to waste" (as though catching Kira was going to quite literally take them forever). Not to mention the past few months she's spent egging him every chance she'd get about postponing work just because he'd gotten a little depressed about being wrong about Light's guilt (he's always suspected Kira to be highly intelligent and cunning, but he may have underestimated him, if that's even possible, which had only depressed him all the more).

Now that things are back in gear, here she is complaining to Misa about the lack of adequate "breaks" for the task force as they paint their toenails on her sofa, while he watches from the discretion of the monitor room. "Breaks" which will cut in on work towards apprehending Kira and thus prolong her wait for her release.

Women: they must truly have the clearest minds, since they constantly change them.

"I mean, have you gotten a look at Aizawa, lately? Or Mogi, or Mr. Yagami? Mr. Yagami looks the worst, don't you think? No offense." She lowers her voice to a whisper, as though that will keep her observation from being heard. "Every day he looks a little grayer…when was the last time he and Light have seen their family? Really seen them? When have any of the guys gotten to see their folks?"

"Who knows? What worries Misa is that since Misa is Light's girlfriend, she should be on top of things like that. So if I don't know, then he hasn't spent quality time with his family in a long time. But Kira doesn't take breaks, so Misa guesses that we can't, either."

In a certain sense, one could say that Kira is taking a break. He's sitting right next to him typing away while somewhere, a proxy carries on his work for him with his powers. But did Light Yagami will for his powers to pass to someone else, or did someone lurking in the wings?

"Well, if they're gonna spend all of their time here, I think they should at least be more comfortable while they do. They'll just burn themselves out if they don't take a couple hours to unwind…"

Misa blows on her big toe as she screws the cap back on the bottle of cherry-red polish. "We've got a gym here, and a firing range downstairs. Oh, and the break room."

"The gym and firing range are there so the guys can stay at the top of their game. I'm all for that, don't get me wrong, but they should have a chance to, you know, do their own thing for a while, call their folks and stuff, especially if they can't just go out. Kinda like what we're doing, right now."

Erin raises her leg up into the air and wiggles her toes to dry the teal paint she's just applied to her nails. She's about four shoe sizes larger than her companion, and normally it would be grubby and tough with wear, but her foot is soft and pink like Misa's, as it should be, seeing that she's just taken a shower. She's not generally the type to paint her nails; Misa must have talked her into it. She appears to be enjoying herself.

"And the break room's not much more than a kitchenette. You eat and cook in a kitchenette, you can't really chill in there. Not in those chairs."

By the way she voices her concern for the well-being of the officers, her growing attachment to them may be one of the reasons she isn't as pushy about closing the case, these days. Why she doesn't verbalize such concern for his welfare nearly as frequently is a mystery he is still trying to unravel when Kira is not on his mind.

He only takes up cases that pique his interest. Perhaps this one interests him because it's about himself?

…

Since when did he start caring about what anyone thought about him, anyway?

"I think if Ryuzaki had the dough to build this entire crazy building, he can stand to vamp the break room. Some recliners would be a great start…maybe a couple of beanbag chairs. Video games, pool or ping-pong, foosball, maybe an air hockey table—this is all just me, of course, making assumptions on what they'd like."

"Ooh, do you think Ryuzaki could get a DDR™ system, too?" Misa wonders aloud, now that the ball is rolling. "I'd love to have one of those around."

Erin's complexion turns noticeably wan at the game's mentioning. "Uh, I dunno. That game is a death-trap with flashing lights and catchy beats."

"Oh, Elin's just saying that because she has two left feet and can't dance. If we had DDR™, maybe you could overcome that?"

Her concern for the task force is appreciated, but this is the Kira Task Force Headquarters, not a recreational center. Would they also like a system where they win cheesy tickets that they can cash in for cheesier prizes? Maybe a swimming pool on the rooftop?

"Hmph. Maybe." Erin nestles herself into the corner of the sofa, almost as though she's trying to squeeze into the spot between the arm and the cushion. He notes her toes wiggling with mild embarrassment; teal does look rather nice on them. Moments later, however, she regains some composure.

"Y'know, Misa, between you and me, I only really get to go to all the good places when you and Matsu are home and we go on outings. It gets really boring here when you aren't, what with everyone working and all. Sure, I get in spats with Ryuzaki, but…that gets kinda old. Drives me crazy. Not good-crazy, either. Mostly, not."

…

They seem to have forgotten that he can hear everything they're saying.

"And it's not like I like spatting with him. I sure as hell don't start them on purpose. But I can't help that he's a jerk."

One could call him selfish, arrogant, stubborn, all of that. He is many things, but there are also quite a few things that he isn't. "Old," used in this context to mean "predictable" or "boring," is one of them. To be predictable is dangerous; it provides the enemy ideas for effective counter-measures. Also, most of the "spats" between them are usually created by her. It's not as if he deliberately approaches her to spark conflict, although there is something mildly amusing in the way she tries to push back, despite her timid nature…

He is not boring. He will prove this by pulling off something unexpected.

Once he's made the proper preparations, of course.

…

Four days later, Matsuda's making a ruckus. He'd gone to brew a fresh pot of coffee for them and returned raving about the "awesome renovations" to the break room. Predictably, this catches Erin's attention.

Watari is there to greet them, looking tired but pleased. "Allow me the pleasure to introduce you all to the new and improved task force break room."

"Oh my God!" he hears her squeal before he and Light start their trek down the hallway. "Look at this place! You did all this, Watari? You rock!"

He steps inside just in time to see her envelop Watari in a bear hug, in the middle of the room complete with a sofa, two beanbag chairs, a flat-screen TV with several of the latest video game consoles, and ping-pong, foosball and air hockey tables (to name the most important features).

Even Light's eyes widen with mild astonishment. "Whoa, Ryuzaki. I didn't think you had it in you to be so...generous."

"Huh?"

Watari nods to Erin. "It's true. I was merely in charge of putting the room together. You have Ryuzaki to thank for the funding."

Naturally, the room falls into an awkward silence as soon as Watari brings this up. Erin bites her lip, looking a bit disturbed, for a moment. Is she disturbed because he had listened in on her conversation and actually acted on it? For what possible reason could he have done this?

"As I've said before, I'd like us to be able to spend as much time here as possible. According to my research, providing employees recreational time helps to greatly boost productivity and morale."

(He had actually looked up on this to analyze beforehand how this would affect their work; this hadn't been something he'd had to research before this case, seeing as he'd never previously had to work with people face-to-face.)

"That being said, there will be a few rules regarding usage of the break room, the most important being that everyone gets but two hours a day for free time, and that we must be notified before you go on break."

(He still has an investigation to run, and he wouldn't want to spoil them any more than necessary.)

She reaches up to scratch the back of her neck. She's having difficulty making eye contact with him. "…Well, I guess it's not appropriate then for me to say that it's the thought that counts. I didn't even think you'd know what 'morale' was…"

"Morale: a noun indicating the confidence, enthusiasm, and discipline of a person or group at a particular time. I think I would know this if it would affect the investigation in any way."

"Uhm…yeah. Thanks, anyway. I think."

For some reason, her arms start to stretch out in front of her as she half-consciously shuffles towards him. What is she doing? Does she want to give him a hug? He's seen her hug other members of the task force when she's grateful to them, particularly Matsuda. It must be a habit of hers to touch someone when she's thanking them.

He tenses up, digs into the fabric lining the inside of his pockets with his fingertips. It's a reflex; he's not used to receiving touches, let alone hugs. Last time someone touched him, he'd been launched across the room off of his assailant's knuckles. Erin must see this because she stops before she makes contact.

Her face turns bright pink. Her face virtually always has color in it. "Oh. Right. I almost forgot. You're not a touchy-feely kind of guy." Her hands seem to take up life of their own as they fidget about, like they're torn between shaking his hand or patting his head. Something.

It's as if she's afraid that the slightest brush of her fingers against any part of him will make him attack her.

Odd, considering how she's not afraid to give him "noogies," on occasion. Although that usually happens when she's too irritated to think about the consequences.

She eventually settles for a slight salute and a crooked smile. "Well, thanks, Ryuzaki. I think the guys will love what you've done with the place, anyway." She doesn't hesitate to toddle off towards the foosball table and take a side. "Now who wants to help me break in this foosball table?"

How would he have reacted, had she gone through with that hug? It's strange: a part of him briefly wishes she would have, if only so he may get an answer to that question.

Naturally, Matsuda is the first to volunteer. If anyone is going to make any real use of the break room's new features, it would be him, Erin, and Misa. "Count me in! I still have time before we have to go out to today's shoot."

"Mr. Matsuda, are you sure you want to drop everything and play now? You still have coffee to get," he reminds their youngest officer dryly. His hands still deep in his pockets, he makes his abrupt exit out of the room with Light in tow, the younger man's discomfort far from the top of his list of priorities.

"Hey! What's your problem today, Ryuzaki? Is something the matter?"

"Yes. I've made the foolish mistake of starting my morning without coffee. Matsuda have better snap to it."

"What's gonna happen if he doesn't?" Erin calls back at him, fiddling with the knobs that control the rows of plastic players. "Are you gonna go Hulk™ on everyone?"

Matsuda, however, is not willing to take that chance. "Ah, d-don't worry, Ryuzaki! I'll have that coffee in a jiff!"

…

In a certain sense, he needs to make sure she's happy while she's here. It would benefit him if she was; the more content she is, the less inclined she would be to bother him, and the more willing she'd be to do what he wants. This applies to all of them, really. It's one of the oldest tactics in leading a group of people.

Otherwise, he wouldn't normally care so much about whether someone was happy or not. It hadn't been necessary to care before. Moreover, she doesn't even work here.

Why has her happiness become especially imperative?

The girls are taking in the new break room several hours later, trying to determine whether the DDR™ system tucked in the corner is real or a hallucination. Just as before, he can hear every word:

"I can't believe he'd actually go out of this way to—"

"Don't you think it's suspicious, Elin? You talk about how the guys should have more stuff to do in the break room while they're here so they can relax, and just days later, poof! Everything you wanted! Misa thinks he was listening in on us…"

He can see the way her throat tightens as she swallows. "Well, yeah, there's the surveillance thing. He might've heard it. But he's never listened to anything I've said before, hardly. Or to what anyone else says."

Perhaps. Or perhaps she's too busy refusing to notice whenever he does?

"Elin," Misa teases in a singsong voice, "Misa thinks he did it to impress you."

"N-no way, that's just too crazy for words! It's a lot more likely he just did it to get me to quit whining. Plus, he told me specifically that he did it 'cause he looked up that it would help the task force work better. I would call this a nice gesture normally, but he's only giving the guys two hours a day for breaks. And they have to tell him when they're breaking. He takes off whenever he wants, regardless of what anyone has to say about it."

…

"Well, maybe he really meant all of this stuff to be for you?"

"I-if this was all really for me, he'd have probably put it in my room, not in a room that everyone uses. And again, it's to get me to stop complaining about having nothing to do. The guy is sick of me, and I can't say the feeling isn't mutual."

It's amazing, how quick she is to rationalize when it comes to him. Mostly for the "nice" things, not the things he does for the case. She thinks she knows him that well. This is made even more amusing by how she's tugging at her shirt collar, like the idea that he'd do something to please her makes her genuinely uneasy.

Does she dislike him that much? Does he make her that uncomfortable? Her daring attempt to hug him from earlier contradicts this considerably. Not that it's any skin off of his nose, either way.

"Still, I guess since this is all here…we shouldn't let it go to waste. I sure hope this stuff is all legit, though. I didn't find any tags, but you know Ryuzaki…"

"For shame! Hasn't Elin heard that you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Oh, please. He doesn't break the law that often. Only when he has to. The money they'd paid for the renovations had been paltry, at best.

Still, if this keeps her from fully enjoying them, he supposes he could have Watari show her the receipts, with all of the classified information censored out.

Women: they must truly have the clearest minds, since they constantly change them.

And lately, he hasn't been much better.


	12. Heaven

What is Heaven? Most would envision, upon hearing the word, a city of gold situated in the sky enclosed by pearly gates, a concept that is both cliché and illogical, since there's no way entire cities can be built on nothing but clouds for its foundation. Others may imagine a virgin paradise, green and lush and bursting with life and harmony for all eternity, the Garden of Eden. While marginally more realistic than the first definition, it's still too idealistic, as there is no place on Earth that could ever meet those conditions, past, present or future.

Then there's the matter of how one actually gets to Heaven; the established theory is that one's soul is permitted access into it if they've lived a righteous life. After they die. There are so many shortcomings with this thinking, it's almost painful. How can one be so sure that there even is another life after death? There's no dead person who can come back to confirm its existence, and there are no means to explore it for oneself. Theories that cannot be scientifically tried should never be trusted.

Besides that, he finds the concept repulsive that only a select few should be granted access to anywhere, much less Heaven, for their assumed "righteousness," while those who fail to meet the standards are "damned" for eternity to a place commonly called Hell. Human beings are far from righteous, after all.

And just who would determine who is righteous and who isn't? A god? That sounds like exactly what Kira intends to do with the world at large.

At any rate, it is supposed to be a place characterized by great happiness.

As of this particular rainy day, however, he formulates a new definition for "Heaven" when Misa decides on a whim to play a game called Seven Minutes in Heaven, whose rules she joyfully explains, "We'll use this spinner to pick two people, then put those two into my closet for seven minutes."

Of course. It's not as if they have other more important things to do, as much as he enjoys games.

"What are they supposed to do in the closet, Misa-Misa?" asks Matsuda, raising his hand as though they are students in class.

"Anything they want," replies the young idol, pausing to fire a sly wink in Light's direction, to which he responds with a blink. She then proceeds to flick the plastic arrow into a few brief rotations before pointing in his direction.

The second time around, it points to "Elin." So Misa insists, in spite of the claims spouting from Matsuda, Light, and Elin that they all saw her blow on the arrow after it'd pointed to her (which he saw her do himself, but can't quite find it in him to care, at the moment).

"Light, you don't want me in a dark closet with Ryuzaki for seven minutes straight, do you?"

"Look, Misa, if you're going to make a problem of this, maybe we should just not play," Light admonishes, looking hopeful about the prospect of their quitting while they're ahead so he can get back to work.

While Elin wrings her hands and steals nervous glances at the walk-in closet in question, Misa whines, "But Misa does wanna play! Ryuzaki and Elin should go first, is all." Ever since Misa had first learned of the American student's existence and involvement, she's dragged her into almost every romantic endeavor she's set out to accomplish with Light, by creating "double-dates." It's supposed to make his constant presence on their dates more tolerable, as well as distract him so Misa can cozy up to Light in something resembling peace. Not once has she seemed to take into account if he and Elin can even stand each other.

Misa succeeds in herding the other girl inside as though she were jabbing a gun into her back; Elin even has her hands up in surrender as she stutters that she's never played Seven Minutes before, and therefore should probably sit this out. Really, he knows it's because she doesn't want to sit in a dark enclosed space for seven minutes, not with him.

Which is too bad.

Misa responds by sliding the door in her face. It is difficult sometimes whether to find the girl's presumptuousness admirable, obnoxious, or a warning that she may go so far as to kill you to get her way.

With a nonchalant grunt, he rises up from his crouch to shuffle towards the closet, the handcuff connecting his wrist to Light's rattling as he drags the struggling boy along with him, much to Misa's indignity, Matsuda's confusion, and Elin's jittery amusement.

"Ryuzaki, what're you doing?" Misa squeals. "You can't go into the closet with Light! You're supposed to go in with Elin."

"No, that's okay. Those two can go in together," Elin's muffled voice carries from under the door. "They can go in, and I can come out and wait my turn."

"I can't remove these handcuffs, Misa," he says wearily for the thirteenth time since the cuffs had been introduced.

He can distinctly hear her grumble behind the closet door, "What, you can't or you won't, big pain in the ass?" She has a dreadful habit of thinking out loud, made dreadful by the fact that most of the things she thinks about aloud are things she would rather not have anyone hear.

In the end, though, what was intended to be two occupants becomes four, all crouched in a circle on the floor surrounded by curtains of expensive leather jackets. Before even a minute has passed, however, their four becomes five when Matsuda sits outside, twiddling his thumbs and sighing from loneliness, to have Elin invite him in to join them ("Come on in, Matsu, you might as well.").

So Light and Misa occupy the left side of the closet, with Misa snuggling under Light's arm and watching him from across the space with a sour look as Light checks his watch every thirty seconds or so. He and Elin have the right, while Matsuda acts as the middle, scrunched up against the wall Indian-style as he rubs the back of his neck in that sheepish way of his. Although Misa had said that they could do "whatever they wanted while in Heaven," Heaven is rather dull, at first, though he has never actually been there, himself. No one is able nor willing enough to break the awkward silence among them.

About three minutes into their stay in Heaven, Elin proceeds to stretch out her legs in front of her as far as she can. "Hmm…well, I guess this isn't so bad," she says with hesitation. "Hanging out in a big, cozy closet filled with nice jackets on a rainy day, with your bestest friends in the whole wide world."

He feels her laying a hand on his shoulder to jiggle him ever so slightly. She also has a habit of goofing around in order to cope with anxiety.

"You mean, 'your best friends.'"

"It's called being facetious, Ryuzaki." She lets go of him so she can lean back and sigh, "Yep. What could be better? All we're missing is the angelic choir."

He finds it perplexing how in spite of how much she dislikes him, she'll stop every now and then to jiggle his shoulder, as though trying to shake something into him…or out of him.

…

"So, I may assume that you believe in these 'angels?'"

She shrugs, "Sure. Why not? I like to think that there's something beyond what there is here, something to look forward to after…you know." This case has affected her so much, she's had trouble even mentioning the word "death." Either that, or she is aware of how prodding he is by nature and is thus mocking him by constantly saying, "you know."

The closet falls uncomfortably silent on everyone's end except his as he asks, "Do you have any substantial evidence of the existence of an afterlife?"

Her tongue roves around the inside of her cheek. "Well, I wouldn't know from personal experience, but I've got the Bible, and what I learned in Sunday school. Oh. And from Veggie Tales™."

Vegetables. That makes it even worse.

"It's foolish to believe in something simply because someone told you to believe in it," he points out, earning a prompt "HEY!" from both girls.

Her fists clench and unclench in her lap as she grumbles, "You calling me a sheep? Okay, it's getting fairly obvious to me that you're an atheist. Or an agnostic or whatever, and that's fine and dandy. But that doesn't mean you should ruin faith for the rest of us."

"Yeah!"

He's not trying to "ruin" anything. He simply thrives for challenges, to challenge and be challenged. With the rut that they're in, he must keep from getting stale somehow.

"I mean, if there's nothing to look forward to after we...then that sorta takes the meaning outta living, doesn't it?"

"Actually, I believe that the lack of an afterlife makes this life here and now all the more meaningful."

Now Misa decides to join in the sparring: "No, it doesn't! If there wasn't an afterlife designated for good and bad people, what's gonna stop people from doing bad things? Don't you believe in justice, Ryuzaki? Light, talk some sense into him, will you?"

He notices how hard Light is trying to stay calm, collected, and out of this argument, as he is more discriminating about the fights he picks. As Kira is with his victims. "I'm just waiting for these seven minutes to be up," he mutters, his eyes not leaving his watch. Yes, he seems quite eager to come out of the closet, no innuendo intended.

"People have done, currently and will continue to do 'bad things' no matter what, Misa. The existence of an afterlife or the efforts of a god are irrelevant," he says, taking a moment to attempt to gauge Light's reaction, or lack thereof, to this statement. "It's all about free will."

It's an established fact that Misa worships Kira, in spite of her adoration for Light, who is working to catch Kira. Elin, on the other hand…

"So, Elin, does that mean that you support Kira?"

She looks at him as though he's just spouted antlers. "W-WHAT? Now, what the hell gave you that idea? Of course, I don't support Kira. A real god would cut people a little slack. A real god would cut everyone some slack. A real god should be somebody you can talk about your problems to as easily as ringing up a friend without being afraid of what they think of you."

"I see. Like an imaginary friend?" he asks dryly, earning a withering glance from both girls.

"But what if they don't deserve slack?" demands Misa.

"Guys, guys, why are we fighting?" Matsuda cuts in after spending all of this time watching this verbal volleyball match with sweat rolling off his brow. "We're supposed to be in Heaven, remember?"

Elin snorts, "Matsu, we are in Heaven. And anyway, I may not be the best Christian in the world; I fully admit it. But I do know well enough to love my neighbor as much as I love myself, no matter how crummy he is. Or at least tolerate him." She reaches up to pat him lightly on the top of his head, as though he were a child.

In retaliation, he replies, "Coming from an organized religion, that advice seems fairly sound. In your company, it helps me greatly," which turns the pat on the head into a noogie, since they're allowed to do anything they want in here. This is probably going to be the last time they decide to find Heaven in a closet for seven minutes.

In regards to calling the here and now Heaven, however, sarcasm aside, she couldn't have spoken a clearer truth.


	13. Oysters

In hindsight, she almost hasn't the faintest idea why she'd picked oysters in yet another foolhardy attempt to knock the great detective down a peg or two, and at the same time, get his gears grinding again. She doesn't even like them. Crab and lobster are acceptable, and sushi is okay (she'd have to be a total jerk to fly over to Japan and not like at least some of their sushi), but mollusks? Blech!

Actually, why hadn't she picked either of those sweet red meats, instead of this hideous arrangement of slimy pollution-colored bivalves set out in front of them, their shells open in a sort of challenging stance, daring her to slurp up at least one of them?

(This is what people call an appetizer?)

Then she remembers. If she hates oysters, the mere sight of the shellfish is bound to kill L, considering how all she's ever seen him eat is junk food. He thinks he can eat away his sorrows while Kira is free to do as he pleases. Not this time. She's going to spur him into action by torturing him where it'll hurt a lot, if not the most: his taste buds.

The fact that this'll be through a challenge, something that he can't possibly resist taking up? Doubly so.

Dining at a semi-formal restaurant in the first place had been Misa's idea, and giving Matsuda's jacket to L so that they'd be allowed inside had been…well, Matsuda's, but getting the oysters are hers. It comes to her in a flash when the waiter arrives to take their orders, and it's his turn to give the waiter his. No doubt that he'd ask for something diabetic, as usual. Not if she can help it.

She slams down her menu and blurts before she has the time to catch herself: "Haven't you heard that you can't eat your pudding if you don't eat your meat?"

If anyone has caught the obligatory pop culture reference, they don't make this evident. Not even L, who should since he lived in jolly old England for how many years (unless he spent that whole time under a rock, which sounds fairly plausible to her). At any rate, all eyes are on her, more attention than she'd been aiming for.

Oh, well. She's already thrown it out there, and it's too late to turn back.

Clearing her throat, she adds, "I'm just saying that if you want cake, Ryuzaki, you should earn it. I propose a challenge. You, me, and…"

Having skimmed over the menu prior to the waiter's showing up, it takes her about three seconds to come up with something hard to swallow: "…a fat plate of oysters! No salt, no sauces, and no sugar. Just pure, unadulterated mollusk."

She leans into L's direction, cups a hand around her mouth, and whispers, "Unless you're too chicken."

Matsuda goes bright red and chokes, probably because he's never heard anyone call Ryuzaki chicken before. Misa knits her eyebrows; all she wants is at least one date night to go completely right. Light's looking at them both funny, like they're about to do something mildly stupid, only to roll his eyes and sigh, "Fine, get what you want. Just be sure to eat whatever you order. We don't want to waste food."

She expects L to glare at her, quake in his dirty old sneakers, ask her how dare a nobody like her challenge him and call him chicken on top of it, anything that will give her confirmation that there's a ghost of human emotion lurking in her opponent. Light hasn't been the only one getting on his case about…well, the case. He's just more direct about it.

Instead, he just blinks and asks, "Can I still order dessert?"

Figures. If he didn't complain about wearing Matsu's jacket, he won't lash out at anything she can dish out. Not outwardly. "Order every dessert they've got, but you can't take a single bite unless you win the challenge. First one to ralph, or otherwise have the oysters back up through their mouth, before dessert is the loser. Bonus points if you can eat more than the other guy without losing any of it."

"I can keep score!" cheers Matsuda.

"Don't encourage them," says Light. "And Ryuzaki, you don't need to order every dessert. Just pick whichever one you were going to."

"Fine. I accept your conditions."

She rubs her palms together in anticipation. "Then it's on!" she declares, confident that the mere sight of the dish should have L's stomach lurching all the way out of the restaurant. Especially since they can't use any condiments. Where will he be without his precious sugar?

The waiter, tapping his notepad with the tip of his pen with thinning patience, says, "O…kay, I'll put you down for the medium plate."

"Oh yeah. And neither of us can leave the table until one of us loses. So no bathroom breaks. That shouldn't be a problem for you."

So now here they are. Ryuzaki's peeling his first mussel out of the shell in his trademark two-finger pinch, while she's sitting there wishing she'd just kept her piehole shut. If only she could put a little sauce on these; maybe then they'd look more appetizing…

You can't get the pearl without digging into a couple of oysters, she scolds herself. Besides, everyone's watching.

She wants to be able to see his face while he's gulping down oysters—partly to make sure that he actually is eating them, partly to see him turn green around the gills, he could certainly use some color. It's rather difficult to keep track of him, though, when she has to squeeze her eyes shut, pinch her nose, and think about crab while she shovels the shellfish in with her fork, her spine rattling as the cold, slimy stuff slithers down her throat.

All the while, she must look like a complete pig. That's not totally her fault, though. She has to eat quickly, so the taste doesn't catch up to her.

"Wow, Elin! So far, you've eaten six whole oysters, and Ryuzaki's only had one!" Matsuda marvels. "You might actually win this! Ah, not that I'm not cheering for you, too, Ryuzaki." Matsu's too sweet to pick sides. Either that, or he's afraid L will retaliate somehow, such as dock his pay.

"Make that seven," she gulps, her eyes watering as her vision begins to swim. Neither of them has ralphed yet, but something doesn't seem right, besides the fact that her stomach is doing the limbo. He hasn't said a word, or opened his mouth since he'd eaten his first oyster. He hasn't even flinched.

When the entrees appear, she barely has the strength to separate her dish into piles with her chopsticks.

"Elin, a-are you okay?" asks Matsuda, a sushi roll posed halfway up to his mouth.

"Yeah, you look a little…green," says Misa, as though she'd been searching for the right word to describe how she looks from her view. "Maybe you should go to the bathroom?"

"I can't. Then I forfeit dessert. I'm no quitter," she groans. Whether she's directing this at L or towards herself, she's too queasy to know. "I'm no quitter…I've never been a quitter…"

She's too queasy to pay attention to the fact that that last bit isn't one hundred percent true.

It's when the waiter shows up with the trophy for this stupid contest—green tea rare cheesecake—that she can't hold it anymore. Maybe it's the color that sets her off, or the shape? Who knows? It happens so fast, she isn't even aware of what's happening until she's lurched over the table, staring eye to eye with the horrified waiter's shoes, while everyone's shouting in the background.

Where did all that puke come from? Why is her throat on fire, and why does her mouth taste so nasty, like everything she'd eaten today, and the day before, is evacuating?

Most of all, why isn't L blowing chunks?

"Aw, man. I-I'm so sorry," she chokes to the waiter, "I d-didn't—I didn't mean to—"

He picks that moment to carefully roll the mussel out from under his tongue, where it had been hiding for the past forty-five minutes or so, and onto the plate.

As though her puking hadn't set Misa off enough, she's practically falling out of her seat, her nose scrunching so tightly that it may very well break off of her face. "Eeewww, that's so gross! You cheated, Ryuzaki! You don't deserve the cake! Oh, why can't we ever have a good date night? It's not fair!"

"I didn't throw it up, did I? Also, the salivary glands in the mouth release enzymes that perform the initial digestion of food, so in a sense I did technically eat it. So I didn't cheat. Besides, I doubt that taking the cake is my challenger's top priority, at the moment."

What? He cheated? Why hadn't she taken that into account? She should've called him out on it when he didn't flinch at the mere concept of eating shellfish. That weasel.

She can't tell which burns more: acid reflux or shame. She can't win with Ryuzaki. No one can.

…

Naturally, Matsuda has no idea what to do. Erin's throwing up those dreadful oysters on the floor, Misa's throwing a tantrum, and everyone in the building is throwing concerned stares into their once cozy corner. Light throws an agitated glare in every direction as he tries to calm Misa down. At least the cake is safe.

He can't find it in himself to enjoy his prize, though. Her gagging puts a damper on his own appetite.

"You'd best make that cake to go," he tells the waiter, like everything isn't going all wrong. "Also, you should inspect your shellfish more closely. Another incident like this could instigate a lawsuit."

Not to mention, there's at least a forty-five percent chance that this may be the last time they dine out at an expensive eating establishment. Not that he'll miss it. Anything that requires him to wear a jacket isn't worth it.

He scoots over to pull back her hair. She smells like vomit, sour and unbearable, but what's even more so is the swell of something rising through him that some might call remorse or guilt(?). All he's gotten out of this misadventure is a horrid, fishy aftertaste in his mouth that can easily be diluted with mouthwash and plenty of sugar. This entire attempt of hers to make a point is pathetic, but honest and driven with a certain determination that he finds both admirable, entertaining and annoying.

"Get offa me," she grunts, trying to wave him away. "You got the stinking cake, what more d'ya want? Y-you're probably getting off on this, you dirty cheatin'—"

She doesn't get the chance to call him a name. Another violent wave of nausea forces her to double over and spill out the rest of her stomach's contents from the evening. She shouldn't have challenged him. He'll do whatever it takes to win a challenge, which doesn't make him above cheating. But "getting off" on her misery? Quite the opposite. Although he doesn't suppose he could blame her for thinking so.

The least he can do is hold back her hair, when she's too sick to fight him off again.


	14. Ballbreakers

For once, Misa lets her pick where to go for yet another potentially dreadful date night, on the condition that it turns out to be the best they've ever had, so far (given the quality of the last dozen, her expectations have fallen so low that a totally uneventful outing would do it for her).

Swearing that she'll do much better than that, Erin asks, "Any of you guys know a good bowling alley?"

Erin's not exactly the athletic type, that's more her brother's thing. But if she had to choose a favorite sport, bowling would be the first to come to mind. If one wanted honesty, anyway. There's just something relaxing about the whole thing: like packing all of your troubles into a smooth, heavy ball and swinging them down the lane of life, watching them disappear with all of your worries that loom up ahead with an awesome, thunderous crash (in fact, when she and Farley were growing up, he would tell her that actual thunder was the sound of cloud-giants bowling to help soothe her anxiety towards storms).

Unfortunately, he's here, too, as usual. L is like a black cat, and not just because of his feline mannerisms. Every time he's around, something goes wrong. What should be enjoyable ends up ruined. Why else does Misa think that almost all of their dates have gone awry since they'd all moved in together? It's certainly not her fault.

Matsuda takes a minute to let his surroundings sink in before sitting down to put on his cleats, his grin so big that it can barely fit on his face. "Going to the bowling alley was a great idea, Elin! This should be fun, and hopefully make up for the…uh, last date."

"It'd better," Misa mumbles, though a smile teases at her lips. It's nearly impossible not to feel good when one is in a bowling alley.

She takes a long, healthy whiff of the place as she ties up the laces of her bowling cleats—and laces them again, for good measure—reveling in the smell of air freshener, wax, and nachos. "It's been awhile since I stepped into one of these joints," she sighs to no one in particular, almost unable to hear herself over the constant crash of pins toppling to the polished hardwood floor. What a symphony! "You probably wouldn't know it from just looking at me, but this is my game. Here, I'm in the zone."

L doesn't say anything, for now. He examines the cleats that he's had to exchange his ratty sneakers for (and earned a dirty look from the clerk, while he'd been at it). Erin hopes it stays that way, however in vain. His oral fixation makes him physically incapable of shutting up for very long.

When they reach the actual lanes, Matsuda is the first to take a ball and go nuts. Misa follows at a close second, but not without fluttering her lashes and puckering her lips. "Light, darling, how about a little kiss for good luck?"

When he doesn't respond, the idol takes initiative and steals a healthy smack from his lips before toddling towards the lane closest to him, so that he can watch her. L, in the meantime, pauses to watch other players with his thumb in his mouth. Erin is on standby for when he tries to retrieve a coal-black ball from the rack.

"Whoa, hang on, tiger! I'm not sure if you should play. You sure you're gonna be able to lift that thing?" L has the physique of a wire coat hanger. The weight of the ball could pop his arms clean out of their sockets.

"You needn't worry about me. I may not look it, but I too, am an athlete of sorts. I was once the British Junior Tennis champion."

She explodes with laughter before her brain can even register how funny that sounds. Wiping a tear from her eye, she heaves, "Tennis? Oh Ryuzaki, you and your tall tales! You're just chock-full of them, ain't ya? Do you get invited to a lot of parties? You'd be the toast of the town."

Then Light jumps in, which astonishes her. If anything, he's the first to expose L when he's lying within his earshot. "He's not lying, Elin. At least, not about his tennis skills. I actually played him once. Best game I've played since the Japanese Junior High Tennis Championships."

Boy, oh boy. Two champs, in mind and body.

…

Nah! Mind, definitely (for the most part). Body? Eh…

"Aw Light, you'd be the bell of the ball! You and Ryuzaki are bosom buddies, so of course you'd want to back him up so he wouldn't fall flat on the punch-line. I totally understand that."

"I'm not sure if 'bosom buddies' is the right term," Light mutters. "And anyway, it's not a joke. Nearly a quarter of the school showed up to watch. We could host a demonstration sometime if you want proof."

"I'd love to see that!" cheers Misa.

"Mm, maybe later," she says noncommittally, though all the same refusing to believe in her heart that a couch potato like L could even run back and forth across a court, never mind whack a ball over a net while doing so, never mind become a champ at it. Light looks like the tennis champion type. L? Yeah, right.

Or perhaps she's giving him a hard time just to get a rise out of him?

(Why not both?)

"You can showcase your court moves later, Light. Tennis is cool and all, but bowling's where it's at. Or, um, you know, at least, where we are, right now."

"Hm, yes. Throwing a plastic and resin ball down an aisle to knock over a cluster of pins, also plastic…how primitive. I can see how some would find appeal in that, particularly you." If L has said this just to get a rise out of her, he unfortunately succeeds. He usually does.

Matsuda's just gotten a gutter ball, to his disappointment. Misa is faring better; she's no ace, but she couldn't care less, so long as she's having fun and Light is paying attention to her ("Light, check this out!" "Light, look! I got seven pins!").

"Great shot, Misa," Light reinforces, albeit with a slight lack of enthusiasm. Is he annoyed because Erin is giving them a hard time about sports?

"And I suppose whacking a little rubber ball over a stupid net is hella more sophisticated? Bowling's a legit sport, in its own right! People wouldn't be forming leagues all over the world if it wasn't. I should know. I've played competitively, too." This piques Matsuda and Misa's interest.

She flops down in a vinyl seat to collect her memories, her knuckles rubbing against her shirt. "High school, senior year, I played on my school's bowling team. We were so great, we made it all the way to the…state play-offs."

State may not be quite as impressive as national, not to these two, but damn it, it is to her! Nevertheless, L doesn't hesitate to pop her bubble as soon as she's blown it, like every other bubble she's blown around him. "You weren't an actual player. You were in charge of polishing the team's bowling balls."

Has her aorta just ruptured? No?

"I didn't shine the balls!" she snaps, but something about the intense way he's staring at her, along with the others, compels her to come clean. "O-okay, maybe I did shine our balls between games. But I volunteered to do that."

(She doesn't tell them that being the ball-shiner had been part of her plan to get the scoop on the team's progress throughout the season, in order to gain redemption as a reporter after a certain fiasco regarding the principal and one of the gym teachers.)

"Anyhow, we made it all the way to the championships, and just before the game, one of our guys came down with some nasty carpal tunnel. The gang noticed my awesome arm and at the last minute, decided to let me fill in for him. Man, if only you guys were there; we were setting the lanes ablaze!"

"So what happened?" Misa pipes up, steepling her fingers. "Did you win? Did you become the state champions?"

…

Someone seems to have jacked up the thermostat. Of course they were going to ask that. Why hadn't she remembered that while trying to make herself look more like a hot shot than she really is?

Suddenly, it's getting tough to keep eye contact. "We came in second," she answers, trying to sound proud, but her voice comes out too small to give that impression. Her fidgeting doesn't help, either.

"You messed up, didn't you? You were supposed to break the tie, and you missed it. The ball rolled into the gutter along with your chances of claiming the title." Light glares at L. Not hard enough, though.

Childish as this sounds, she wants to curl up into a ball and roll down the gutter for a minute there, the same way she'd felt as the opposing team was handed that big, pretty trophy while her team handed her cold shoulders from on the ride home all the way up to graduation. She'd never seen him, but she'd suspected her old friend the principal to be reveling in her failure as soon as the news had reached the school.

Oh, what would L know about anything? What's he been doing in his spare time, digging up every single documented clump of dirt tracing her nineteen-year existence? He wouldn't like it if she did that to him, and that was if she was even smart and resourceful enough to. She doesn't tell him this, though. That only works when the person is capable of empathy.

Matsuda places a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Elin. You played, and you played your best. Isn't that what counts?"

"Yeah, and your team got second place overall. That's something to be proud of! Ooh-ooh, maybe we can divide up into teams? Misa and Light, against Elin and Ryuzaki! Matsu can keep score!"

"B-but the boards keep score automatically," Matsuda points out. Not that anyone listens.

Erin folds her arms and glares in any direction she can as long as L's not in it. "I wouldn't play with that fool if he was the only one in the world that I could play with, and/ or my life depended on it. Plus, how's Light gonna play with you? They're…you know."

Lately, she'd use the excuse she'd formulated not long after the gang had started going out with the handcuffs: "The poor kid is a couple cards short of a deck, and he have to keep him on a sort of leash so he doesn't wander off and get lost." When people are staring and otherwise paying attention, that is. The "poor kid," of course, is L. Surprisingly, he's had yet to say anything about it, likely because it gets people off their backs.

"Besides, he'd probably cheat. I'd never want to play with a cheater."

"Now how exactly would I cheat in a bowling game?" he asks.

"Off the top of my head, I dunno. But you'd find some way to do it. You cheated at the restaurant; why would you consider the bowling lane any more sacred?"

He cocks his messy head to the side, like she's just said something nonsensical. "If one is already good at a game, then he should have no reason to cheat." This is coming from someone who's probably never stepped onto a bowling lane before tonight.

He already has a ball dangling in his hand, the one not wearing the handcuff that connects him to Light. Somehow, the ball looks as though it fits with his usual two-finger gesture, like a fucking glove or something. Well, if Misa can toss a bowling ball, why can't he?

Then she notices his cleats, a garish red contrast to his otherwise dull attire. They're untied.

Junior Champion, my foot. How can a guy play tennis, or any sport, if he can't even tie his own stupid shoes?

"Okay, so you can hold the ball. But at least let me tie your shoes. Can't go running up with a bowling ball while your shoes are untied, unless you want to roll down the gutter and bust your lip along the way." While a part of her does wish something like that would happen, another part of her won't let her keep a good conscience if that happened while she could've prevented it. Besides, this is her chance to one-up the guy: by demonstrating her superior knowledge of the game over his, even if it's about something as trite as the importance of lacing up one's cleats pre-game.

He lets her tie his shoes, though his eyes drill a hole into the top of her head, all the while. "And I should think that you'd like to shine my ball, while you're at it?" Though his face is deadpan, Erin finds something vaguely smug about the way he says this. Maybe she imagined it? They're already on bad terms, as it is.

She pulls the laces tighter than she should, hoping that it's uncomfortable for him. Not that he lets on if it is. "Ladies first," she announces when she rises, dusting her hands. "Since you're new and I'm a veteran, you should let me go first so you'll get an idea of what we're doing."

"Suit yourself," he dismisses, which she finds a little surprising.

She lightly cracks her knuckles before picking out a forest green ball. "Oh, I will, buddy. I'll suit myself, all right. We'll see who's shining whose balls at the end of the night…"

Before she gets into her bowling stance, Erin stops to breathe onto the smooth surface of her ball, then rub at it with her elbow to see her reflection, elongated at odd angles and flustered. She swallows.

Push, step, swing, throw. This is the mantra she's used to remember how to do it ever since she'd started playing. Push, step, swing, throw. 

Although twenty feet in reality, the pins seem twenty miles away. She has to move sometime. Everyone's watching. She wills herself to relax. Bowling is supposed to be relaxing.

She pushes, steps. Gets on the tips of her toes and imagines tinkling noises with every shuffle. The Flintstone™ maneuver. Sometimes it works, more often it doesn't. Why she's trying this in front of L, she herself doesn't know. An attempt to show off, most likely. She's been trying off-and-on to perfect the technique for years, though will ask herself sometimes why she bothers when the only one who can bowl on their tiptoes is Flintstone™.

Or maybe it's because he makes her nervous? Erin fools around when she gets nervous.

She might've slipped up anyhow if he hadn't, but L picks that crucial moment in her play to comment, "I don't think that's the correct way to approach the pins."

As soon as he says that, she loses her footing, almost crashes to the floor, but not quite. She catches herself on her feet before she does, but loses the ball in the process. It teeters precariously on the edge of the gutter before veering to the right. It gets two pins, way in the back. Three, if that neighboring pin would lose its balance, but it settles back into place after waddling for five seconds. No thunderous crash. The impact is almost soundless.

She can't bring herself to look back at the boys and Misa. "Uhm…showmanship! Just fooling around, I meant to do that!"

"Of course you did. I wonder if this is the stellar technique that cost your team the championship. Wouldn't you agree, Light? I thought you were, as you put it, 'in the zone?'"

For his information, this wasn't the play that blew it for them. At the championship, she'd lost her footing while on tiptoe about to knock those five damn pins out of the way to their victory. The shot became a gutter ball. Her laces had been tied too loosely.

By this point, she's getting as red as her shoes. "I was in the zone! You're throwing me off!"

"How am I doing that? We're at least nine feet apart."

You were born. 

Erin rubs out the corner of her eye when something gets in it. "You won't shut up. You're supposed to be quiet while I'm taking my turn. Save your comments and questions for after the presentation, will ya? Thanks a lot."

There isn't any actual sense in keeping quiet; bowling is one of the noisiest games out there, especially when the alley is almost full. Light does her a small favor by telling L to shut up in that polite way of his, let her finish her turn in peace.

He does. She does, without any fancy crap, this time. Her pulse is drowned out by the triumphant crash of the remaining eight pins toppling to the ground before they are swept away into the darkness at the end of the lane. Spare.

Erin has some confidence, again, briefly. She pumps and shakes her fists out in front of her, her cheeks aching as her grin pushes them to the limits. "Ooohhhh! Didja see that, guys? That's a spare! H'oh, yeah! Top that, Ryuzaki!"

Misa and Matsuda hand her applause, to which she bows several times while stepping aside to let L take his turn, high off of this small upper-hand she's gained. Yeah. Let's see you top that.

He steps up with his ball and pauses to survey the path while Light tries to maintain a safe and workable distance. That once triumphant crash of pins that ensues shortly after becomes as though someone's taken a blunt object to her head, effectively killing her buzz.

CRASH! 

Strike.

Matsuda and Misa are going crazy, now. Light grunts, "Good shot." She wants to call him out on cheating. But she can't. She can't see any possible way he could've cheated, this time (except perhaps his ball is remote-controlled, but is he even capable of that? Maybe he secretly paid somebody off to blow over the pins he hadn't knocked over—no wait, how could he do that while he's handcuffed to Light?).

Her slouch could rival his. Maybe. Not really. "Hmph. Lucky shot, Lebowski™. But let's see if you can do that—"

CRASH! 

"…again."

"Gosh Ryuzaki, you don't mess around!" marvels Matsuda, bowled over by his performance (obligatory lame pun here).

This isn't right. She wasn't this good when she was starting out; it'd taken her weeks before she'd made her first strike at her twelfth birthday party. Never mind get two in a row...

Then again, she's not a genius. He is, whatever that means.

Trying to pretend that his upstaging her doesn't faze her, she takes her turn. Seven pins at her first throw, two at her second. The lone pin still standing mocks her at a distance, shivering with chuckles before settling back down. It reminds her of L. She thinks about running down the lane and snapping it in half, but whatever reason she has won't let her do it.

Actual L takes his turn, which hardly registers in her mind until her ears bleed with a solid third strike.

CRASH! 

Holy shit. He's just scored a turkey.

Forget heart attack; she's about to have a stroke. She needs to sit down, stare out into space for who's counting how long until someone—she can't tell who—reminds her that it's her turn again. But she doesn't want to play anymore. Not with him. She doesn't want to see him score another turkey and feel compelled to ask herself how her old team might've fared if they'd had a hot shot like him.

Or think about looking up past British Junior Championships, to see if he really had been telling the truth. Depends on what alias he'd played under.

She's been whipped at her own game by a schmuck who can't even tie his own shoes. She knows she's mediocre, but doesn't necessarily want that rubbed in.

If only he could find it in himself to put that much effort into the case.

"Elin," he says, "I believe it's your turn, now."

…

"You suck, Ryuzaki. You've always sucked and always will suck, no matter what you do," she snarls, her gaze turned up towards the fluorescent lighting so the tears retreat back into her skull. Why they are there in the first place, or whether she wholeheartedly means what she's just said, she doesn't quite know. Somehow, saying it hurts her more than it does, him, no matter how much he deserves it.

If her skin were that much thicker, like his, maybe she wouldn't have this problem?

In the meantime, a faint murmur admits, "That's too bad. This display of my prowess in your favorite sport was vaguely intended to impress you."

…

"What?" 

"That's too bad," he says a tad louder. "This display of my prowess in your favorite sport has left a poor impression on you. I vaguely suspect envy. Am I correct in assuming this?"

…

"That's what I thought you said." Humiliation and the roar of bowling balls actually making their mark must be distorting her hearing. Making a tilting motion over her head as though she's wearing her hat, she huffs, "I'm gonna go get some snacks. Light can probably play with you; you guys are both junior champs, after all. I'm just a ball-shiner."

Getting out of her seat feels more like hard labor.

"Hey, come on, Elin," scolds Light, "there's no need to get sour. It's just bowling."

"Are you insinuating that you think Light 'sucks,' too?" She hates it when he throws her slang back at her. It sounds all weird, despite the clear, deliberate articulation. But maybe that's what makes it sound funny?

"I'm not 'insinuating' anything."

Ryuzaki may not have ruined this date for Misa, this time, but he's definitely destroyed it for her.

She should've left it at that, but her big mouth won't let it be, especially when it comes to her wounded pride. "But at least I can tie my shoes."

"Ugh. Quit being a baby, Elin," says Light. She knows she's being a baby, but can she help it? Maybe, except something in her won't let her. Well, that's one thing he and she have in common.

…

"Matsu! I think my ball is lost," cries Misa. "I scored a spare, but my ball hasn't come back to me, yet."

He was going to follow Erin to see if everything is okay, but Misa is equally demanding for his attention, if more direct. It's moments like these that make him wish he could be in two places at once. Being the loyal "manager" that he is, and assuming that this wouldn't take too long, Matsuda climbs over the ball return to inspect the situation.

"I don't think climbing on top of the ball return is a good idea," says Light. L doesn't contribute to the conversation. Having placed his ball back on the rack, he's crouched in a seat, his eyes fixed on the snack bar, chewing on his thumbnail. Is he waiting for Erin to come back with snacks?

"Oh, right. Better get someone from the staff!"

It rolls into him like a freight train he doesn't hear coming. Matsuda has one leg on the floor and the other hiked in mid-air when Misa's ball crashes into his crotch.


	15. Laundry

She wants to kill him.

Well, no. "Kill" might be too strong of a word, considering what they go up against every day, have been going up against for these past few months. No, she should give him the biggest atomic wedgie he has ever gotten; she should wedgie him so hard that when she'd be through with him, it would take four rounds of surgery just to pull his underwear out of his butt, plus four rounds of cosmetic surgery to fix his face.

Honestly! What is it with him and his need to dangle unmentionables in her face for Light and all of their friends to behold? She hasn't hated him this much since that incident with the tampons. Or of course, since he'd dragged her into this case. What did she ever do to him?

This time, apparently, it's about screwing up his laundry.

It had started out innocently enough: being laundry day, and with it coming that pang of guilt from having poor Watari pick up after her all the time. Being forced to live with a group of people shouldn't give someone the excuse to get lazy, so she'd endeavored to help him out some, and get her own laundry done, in the meantime.

She has no idea how this happened. It was an honest mistake—a brief moment of absent-mindedness between getting her clothes out of the dryer and tossing a basket's worth of L's shirts into the washer, as she'd decided to help out the old man by starting that load for him. Turns out that she'd been wrong about L's wearing the same white long-sleeved shirt and jeans every day. He actually has a wardrobe full of just that, white long-sleeved shirts and jeans. It looks like something from out of a cartoon, but it's true. She had gotten a nice quick laugh for herself out of it before turning on the machine and prancing out of the room, luxuriating in the smell of clean clothes fresh from the laundry.

Sometimes one brief moment of absent-mindedness is all it takes.

Barely two hours later, she's back in the laundry room on all fours, having it come to her attention that she's missing a pair, and hoping to find it before someone else does (namely, one of the guys; what with the current 7:3 males-to-females ratio, and with two of the females hardly at home during the day, the probability of a guy finding it is…well, too high, and she isn't sure if she could bear the embarrassment).

Perhaps if Watari had come in to give it back to her, it wouldn't have been so bad. He would've at least been a gentleman about it.

But no. Oh, no-no. It has to be L, instead. L, whom she swears to herself sometimes to be the missing link between people and monkeys, and the very last guy on this entire planet that she would want to have handle anything of hers, much less her undergarments. He slinks into the room in that crooked way of his with Light trying to tug him back for some reason, judging by the violent rattle of the chain that connects them. She doesn't turn her head to either of them until she feels him looming directly over her.

The first thing she notices is that his shirt is mottled green, which makes her do a double-take. It disturbs her to see him in anything other than a stark white shirt and faded blue jeans.

The second thing she notices is how suspiciously familiar the green staining is.

The third (funny how she notices this last) is that he's got her missing pair of underwear pinched between his thumb and pointer finger by the elastic waistband, like it's the filthiest thing he's ever been forced to handle. Well, technically he handles everything this way, but the fact that it's her freaking underwear certainly does nothing to make this any better.

"These seemed to have gotten mixed in with my laundry," he explains, so matter-of-factly that she's already thinking about yanking 'em high, while Light stops tugging on the handcuffs, equally appalled. "Women's panties, around size 8. I suspect that these are yours, and also that you had tried to wash my shirts for me when that is Watari's job."

Misa's right. He is a pervert. Mentioning that they're size 8 is just squeezing lemon juice into the wound, by this point. She wants to have him need those eight surgeries so, so badly. Those eight surgeries to fix him up…or at least, as fixed up as he's ever going to be.

But he's not worth it. Underwear is sacred, and she's not going to stoop to his level.

She settles for snatching it out of his fingers as roughly as she can before shoving him into Light, instead, with all her might. The part about Light stumbling back as well is unintentional; hell, so had been dying all of L's shirts green (even if it would do him some good to have a little color in his attire). But when a guy you don't like, a total creep, is dangling your underwear in your face in front of mixed company, mocking you for messing up his wardrobe, it's difficult to think much of anything else, such as apologies.

He barely even grunts at the gesture, while Light protests, "Hey!"

"Fine! A-and you can suspect that that'll be the last time I ever try to do anything nice for you again, you fucking ungrateful asshole!"

Technically, this had been more to help Watari. But it had been L's laundry, so…yeah.

She storms off with the garment clenched in one fist, the other rubbing her eyes out before the tears can even think about welling up in them. No no no, don't cry don't cry, don't give him that satisfaction…

…

Luckily, Light manages to catch them both before they end up in a heap on the floor. All he'd meant to do was give back what was hers. Granted, he would've preferred it if she hadn't tried to wash her clothes with his, or better yet, she'd have left his laundry up to Watari, but he's far from upset about it. So why is she getting so upset?

"Ryuzaki, you can't really be that ignorant," groans Light, face slightly red as he pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He refuses to dignify what exactly he has just done by describing it to him from his perspective as the bystander. "If you'd have done that to me, I would've broken your nose."

He's not joking. Light has tried to break his nose on more than one occasion (prompting him to try to break his jaw in retaliation). But not over something like this.

"I think you owe her an apology."

Perhaps. But not now. He shouldn't attempt to reconcile until after he's allotted her some time to cool off and she no longer looks at him like she wants to shoot him but can't.

For now, he supposes he'll have to wear these green shirts until Watari can replace them with new white ones. That should be an ordeal of three days, at the maximum. Three days of the cold shoulder, vitriol-injected ranting to Misa, dirty looks, and silences laced with unnecessary tension.

He doesn't mind very much, though.

The green matches the color of her eyes, which, whether she's angry with him or not, is rather pleasant (although the raging purplish-red in her face tends to obscure it).

Sometimes one brief moment of absent-mindedness is all it takes.


	16. Double

How often does someone manage to not only get to personally know a celebrity, but to have a deep enough friendship that said celebrity would go out of their way to invite you onto the set of a film they are starring in?

"How about it?" Misa had offered, in that out-of-the-blue way of hers, her hand extended in invitation.

"R…really? You'd actually let me tag along?"

"Why not? Misa thinks you'll feel a lot better if you got out of this stuffy room and spent the day with Misa and Matsu. Misa can tell you're the kind of girl who needs a little 'me-time' after she and her man get into a spat. Distance in love is like wind to fire: blows out the weak, but feeds the strong. Misa always remembers that when she has to leave Light."

She wishes that Misa would stop referring to them as though they're in a relationship, never mind the kind Misa has with Light. Whether they are or not, she doesn't simply need a break; she needs to get as far away from that guy as possible, and never see him again. Because that isn't possible at the moment, however, she latches onto the chance to at least have a break. After all, she can't just settle for staying cooped up in her room all the time just to avoid him. Cabin fever is slowly driving her wall-scrawling insane.

"God, Misa, I can't believe you'd do this! I owe you one big time!"

"Think nothing of it. Of course, you'll have to be keep out of the way while you're there with me, and don't take too many pictures. Misa's really sorry, but the last thing Misa wants to happen is for Elin to get booted off for getting too paparazzi on everyone. Boy, back when Yoshi was Misa's manager, she would get really pissy when it came to the paparazzi."

Erin can barely hold back the chuckle bubbling in the back of her throat. "Y-you had a manager named after a dinosaur from a video game?"

"Uh-huh! Related only in name. And older than any dinosaur. Not that Misa would've ever dared to say stuff like that in front of her."

So Misa has had to put up with lousy bosses, too, just like anyone else with one. It's rather silly to feel that way, but the fact that Misa seems to trust her enough to talk about something like that warms her insides.

"Seriously, though, Misa, I don't like how you keep talking about Ryuzaki like he's my boyfriend or something. I don't even like him as a friend, much less…like that."

The idol smiles playfully at her, giving no guarantee that she will drop the subject as she lets her lead the way. She's barely succeeding at hiding it, anymore; her excuses and denials grow thinner and thinner every day. "Of course. Whatever you say."

…

Outside of her earshot, Misa whisper-coughs, "Tsundere."

Naturally, the filming crew had been hesitant to let an outsider with a camera in on the action, but with Misa and Matsuda's vouching, Erin is granted a chair on the corner of the lot, by the costume trailer. As the heroine of the film, Misa gets what she wants.

It's just like everything she has imagined a movie set to be like: bright, colorful, hectic, glamor in the making. She may not be as involved as she would like to be, but she'd rather not ruin it by doing something out of line. She's so excited just to be here, she's having almost painful palpitations.

"A-are you sure you're okay over here, Elin?" Matsuda asks her, watching her blow in and out into the paper fast food bag.

She stops briefly enough to wave his concerns away. "Oh yeah, I'm okay, I'm okay—huff, huff, huff—I'm just a little…I dunno, overwhelmed, I guess—huff, huff, huff—until now, I'd only dreamed about being in a place like this. Now I'm here—huff, huff, huff—and I didn't have to break my neck to make it happen. What a thing to write home about…"

Matsuda scratches his head, sheepish. "Well, uh, you might wanna take it easy. We don't want you to pass out from hyperventilation. And I think I saw a couple guys from the crew staring at you, on top of it."

Eventually, however, they do pass over a bump in the road. But the trouble is not of Erin's or Matsuda's doing, for once.

Her co-star, Hideki Ryuga (the idol, not the cuckoo clock who went by that name while on campus) looks quite a bit like him, only more cleaned up, dressed as the heartthrob he's cast to be, half-open shirt and all. For a moment, Erin wonders whether the likeness had had anything to do with the reason he had ripped off his alias from this guy. To protect himself and all that jazz. Did he have this nutty idea that on the off-chance Kira somehow found him and tried to kill him, he'd slip up and kill the star out of confusion instead, or something?

Ugh. What a bastard. That's why she's not speaking to him right now.

He's standing over by the fountain—cast in a tender gold light to accentuate the mood of the scene—with Misa, who is dressed as an angel, with the immaculate white gown and dove wings and white rose headband for a halo and everything. It's a little strange to Erin, to see Misa in so much white, being used to seeing her in black and stripes and spider webs and horn-like pigtails that complete her usual "cute perky devil" ensemble. But that must be one of things that make Misa so successful in her work. She is adaptable, capable of entering any scene, any persona she is required to.

Hideki's leaning over her in a slouch that reminds her vaguely of his question-mark posture, his hands on her shoulders and gazing into her eyes—blue for the occasion, thanks to color contacts—with earnest. "I love you," he whispers to her convincingly enough. "So please, don't me that you're going home now. Instead, say you'll stay by my side…"

Erin squirms a little in her seat. Not that it's any of her business, but she finds herself wondering when was the last time Light ever said such things to Misa. Maybe it's too early in their relationship for the L-word (not that that's stopped Misa from saying it almost every day), and Light's always come across to her as a reserved kind of guy, and that's not counting the slack he's had to pick up regarding a certain case due to a certain someone's feet-dragging, but…it feels off, hearing some stranger say romantic things to Misa more often in a day than her actual boyfriend has in the months they've all been together.

He inches in, lips puckered just so, aiming for the sacred first kiss of true love…

And Misa shuts him down.

She turns away from him towards the fourth wall. "Uh, Mr. Director, Misa can't do this," she blurts out, instantly shooting a poison dart into the mood. "Misa has a boyfriend; do you think we can cut the love scenes?"

"Wh-where did this come from, all of a sudden?" the assistant director demands from behind Director Nishinaka, who can only sit cross-legged in his chair with the megaphone hanging limply in his fingers, at a loss for words.

"Can't we just fake it, or something? Maybe Hideki can peck Misa on the cheek or forehead?"

"That doesn't sound very romantic," Hideki mutters. "My angel's about to go away forever, and all I'm going to do is kiss her cheek?"

"You're kidding me! How d'you expect us to make a movie like that?"

"If Misa says no, it means no! N to the O," Misa snaps with a pout.

Just like that, the crew is in a mild uproar. Matsuda glances back and forth, trying to figure what to do as Misa-Misa's manager. He hates seeing her upset, but he also hates seeing everyone else upset. Is there no middle ground for which everyone can meet on? "Oh man, I should've seen this coming from a mile away," he moans.

Erin reaches up to touch his arm, still in disbelief herself after seeing just how faithful Misa is. "Hey, I dunno if I can blame her. Even if it's acting, if I had to kiss a guy who looked like old Ryuzaki, I'd be getting cold feet, too. No offense to Ryuga, of course."

She leans back, tipping her hat out of her eyes, coming to the most immediate and appropriate answer to this quandary. "Maybe we could get a stunt double to take Misa's place for the lovey-dovey scenes? Then they can just edit it later so it looks like Misa's doing it."

"Hm, I'm not sure. Misa-Misa doesn't like using doubles. She likes doing her own stunts…wait…do you think maybe…no, that wouldn't work…would it?"

"What's up, Matsu?"

Matsuda shakes his head. "Well, I—I was thinking that maybe Ryuga could get a stunt double. Maybe have Light come over, put on a wig or something and take his place. But, I doubt Light would ever agree to do something like that…"

Erin perks up. "Aw hell, it's worth a shot, isn't it? The show must go on. You got his number, Matsu? Let's ring him up. By the sound of it, the crew's just decided to go on break for a few," she says, watching Misa flop into her chair and toss one leg over the other in a huff. For the time being, her ethereal persona is lost, and she is as human as everyone else on the set.

…

Light is resting his face in his hands, allowing his tired eyes a break from staring at a computer screen for how many hours when the chiming of his cell phone beckons him from the confines of his pocket. He sits up with a start, grunting to himself in mild annoyance.

"That's probably Misa," says Ryuzaki on his left side with his mouth full. "You'd better get that, or she'll simply keep calling you until you do."

"You think I don't know that?" says Light as he flips open the phone to glance at the caller ID. "Huh…it's not Misa, this time." Click. "Hello?"

"Hi, Light!"

"What's up, Matsuda?" he asks politely, trying not to roll his eyes, but Matsuda does have a tendency of calling them either for frivolous chit-chat or when there's a problem he can't solve by himself.

"Ah, not much. We just wanted to ask you something." 

Of course. How did he guess? "Sure. What is it?"

There's a hesitant pause on the other end of the line, and Light hears muffled whispering before Matsuda continues, "Um…what do you think about coming over to be a stunt double?" 

Okay, that, he did not see coming. "Excuse me? I think you need special training to be a stunt double, Matsuda. I don't have that kind of training."

"At least not in the conventional sense," mumbles Ryuzaki between bites of coffee jelly. Light pauses to scowl at his co-worker.

"Oh, see, M-Misa is having an argument with Nishinaka right now because she doesn't want to kiss Ryuga. She says that since she already has a boyfriend, she shouldn't be kissing other guys." 

Ryuga? The pop idol, of course. Looks like they were both right about the issue being Misa-related. Oh, Misa, she really shouldn't have. "So wait. You're asking me to come over and be a stunt double for Ryuga and kiss Misa in his place?"

…

"…Y-yeah. Is that okay?" 

Light closes his eyes. He answers slowly enough to hide his vexation, "Matsu, do you not notice how impractical that sounds? In every sense of the word? We're working to catch a serial killer who just needs a name and a face to kill someone, and you want me to appear on the set of a film that's probably going to be seen by thousands of people when it comes out?"

Ryuzaki concentrates on the chunk of tan-colored jelly jiggling in his spoon. While that does sound like a legitimate concern, someone working to catch Kira shouldn't have too much of a problem with appearing on film if they also happen to be Kira himself.

"B-but it's not like anyone would know it's you. I think they'd put a wig and make-up on you so you'd look like Ryuga. Kira can't kill you if he doesn't know your real face, can he?" 

Besides, Kira doesn't seem like the type who would watch the kind of movies that Misa acts in. Light doesn't watch them, either.

Suddenly, there's a quiet shuffling on the other end, and someone else is speaking to Light. "Aw, come on, Light. We're not asking you to jump out of an exploding building. Just to kiss Misa; something like that shouldn't be too hard for you, you're her guy and all. This is a movie about an angel, too, so it's just gonna be a sweet and innocent thing…I think. Misa shut him down while he was moving in for the kill." 

Oh. Erin. Or "Elin," as Light and Misa know her as.

"Yes, Light. Why so shy about it? You must have done it enough times for her to be so enamored with you that she would refuse to kiss another man, even if it's only pretend." Ryuzaki slips the jelly into his mouth, jiggling it around the inside of his mouth with his tongue before swallowing.

"I am not being shy," Light hisses, placing a hand over the phone as he glances again at Ryuzaki. "And don't say it like that." He turns back to speak into the phone, "I'm sorry, Elin, but I'm a little tied up at the moment. Maybe you can get a stunt double for Misa, instead?"

"Misa just called Matsuda away. I think they're gonna talk about it. Look, I know you're busy, and we totally respect that. Misa, especially. Uh, distance and wind and fire and love, and all that, like she said. 

"Now I can't make you do anything, Light. And I'm not gonna try to spout an on-the-spot master thesis on why you should come over and be a stunt double for a cheesy love scene in a movie. I'm just saying that I think it would make Misa happy if you were here, just for an hour or two. Then the show can go on, and she won't have to feel bad about locking lips with another guy. Still, I give you credit for not flipping out over Misa getting cozy with other people. Shows that you're the confident, non-jealous type. That helps Misa a lot." 

"Thank you," says Light. Now, if only Misa could return the favor…

"We'll call you back if anything new develops. Or, you can, you know, call us. See ya, Light!" 

Click. 

Light claps the phone shut and slips it in his pocket, pinching the throbbing spot between his eyes in hopes of relieving the pressure building up in his head.

"If you wanted my opinion, I would say that you should go to her," said Ryuzaki, slurping up another spoonful of gelatin.

Huh? Why would Ryuzaki, of all people…?

"I'm not going to kiss Misa in front of a hundred plus people," he hisses. "As someone who's afraid of cameras, I'm surprised that you would even suggest such a thing."

Unless he's just jumping on the opportunity to see him squirm.

"Misa has been quite supportive of you, Light. Surely, that deserves a bit of recognition on your part."

Light groans, "What would you know about something like that? You still haven't apologized to Elin for the whole laundry thing." Indeed, Ryuzaki is still wearing one of his freshly dyed green shirts from the day before, at least until Watari can get him new white ones. Light had suggested that they spare Watari the hassle and simply bleach all of the shirts back to their original color, to which Ryuzaki had replied (like the spoiled brat that he is), "It wouldn't be the same."

"I will consider it when she apologizes for ruining my laundry."

"I've already told you, Ryuzaki: I refuse to manipulate Misa's feelings towards an end, even if it's for the case. Besides, it doesn't seem to me like she really knows anything about Kira, or the Second Kira, for that matter."

When he was still Kira, he would've thought otherwise.

"There is still the evidence suggesting that she did in fact send those tapes to Sakura TV."

"But Kira may have manipulated her into doing that, which would explain why she wouldn't remember anything about it."

"You have Misa's heart, Light. She loves you very much. Are you sure you don't return the sentiments? With the way you defend her, I would almost think—"

"That's none of your business, Ryuzaki. Just because we're together 24/7, doesn't mean that every business of mine has to be yours, too. I'm just stating the facts," snaps Light, refusing to confirm or deny the accusations. The way he closes his eyes and sharply turns away, however, aren't quite as neutral.

Kira and the Second Kira had tried to hide the fact that they had found each other and established a partnership, or rather, master-servant relationship. Light had tried to hide the fact that he was involved with Misa by allowing himself to be seen with other girls. It seems that that distance has carried into his new personality: burying himself alive with work so as to ignore Misa. Just because he will not use her to find out Kira's whereabouts? Or is he wary of becoming too close to someone who is more suspicious than even himself?

He does not envy Light's popularity with the fair sex. It doesn't seem worth the trouble to him; he has others to deal with that area if need be. Aiber, Light…Matsuda…

…

She doesn't know how or why, but about half an hour later, the boys show up on the scene. She can't say she's happy that he's here, still in that stupid green shirt, but with those handcuffs, it was just about inevitable for him to show up, as well. At any rate, whatever foul mood Misa had been in seems to wash away the second she catches a glimpse of her man from out of the corner of her eye. She doesn't even stop to care that Ryuzaki's right behind him. The way she springs out of her chair and flings herself towards him with open arms, it almost seems for a moment that she really is an angel and can fly.

"Oh Light, it's so nice to have you here! You didn't have to come all the way out here to do this!"

"It's not a problem," he tells her, practically lying through his teeth. He has laid down the conditions that he will not have his name mentioned, he will not take interviews, and he will arrange to have his appearance changed so that he will look more accurately like Hideki Ryuga. As if he'd had to ask for the last part.

Erin glances at him for a moment, then at Ryuga who stands on the sidelines leaned against the trailer with his hands in his pockets, then back at Light. "Actually, I think that can be arranged. Misa, go on and give Light a noogie."

"A noogie? O-okay. 'Scuse me, Light." She scoots in to lock an arm around Light's neck, while her other hand makes a fist to drill into Light's scalp. A bit too enthusiastically, at that.

Erin and Misa have established a fruitful exchange of cultural values since getting to know each other.

"H-hey!"

"Hold on there, Light, almost done…there, stop."

Misa promptly lets go of him to examine his now messy hair, sticking out in all directions as though stretching in protest for such a violation. "What d'ya think, guys? Actually, the resemblance is almost uncanny, the way I see it."

Misa blinks. "Hey, that's actually not bad. He does look more like Ryuga, this way. But don't worry, Light, this is just for this scene; we'll fix it right back up as soon as we wrap. I still like your original hair."

"That's good to hear," says Light, appearing to be having an increasingly hard time keeping the smile on his face. To Ryuzaki, at least.

The assistant director stares at the handcuffs linking the boys together with a slight grimace. "Um…what's that? We can't exactly do this with those in the way."

Matsuda gawks for a second. "Ah, well, I…uh, see, this is…"

"Oh, this is just a friend of his," blurts Erin, taking care not to look anywhere near his way. "He's what most folks would call 'special.' These two are handcuffed so he doesn't wander off and get lost. You could consider this dude as his minder, in a way."

Ryuzaki has a feeling that "special" is not used in this context to mean anything positive.

"If only that were true," Light mutters underneath his breath.

"Maybe if you guys just readjusted the camera so he's out of the shot. Plus, it'd make for something more intimate if the two lovebirds got a close-up, right?"

"Thank you for the advice, but the last I checked, you weren't the director," says the AD. "You're just a guest of Misa's. You probably don't even know the first thing about making a movie."

Erin looks at her feet, partly out of embarrassment, partly to hide the blush bleeding into her cheeks. "Uh, sorry, I was just trying to help."

Nishinaka waves his hand. "No need to be so hard-nosed, Abe. We're always welcome to friendly suggestions."

"Whatever," Abe scoffs. "Places, everyone! Remember your motivations and all that jazz."

Ryuzaki stands as far away from the couple as the handcuffs will allow and stares at the AD marching back behind Nishinaka, his head cocked to the side and his thumb dangling from his mouth. He says nothing. There is nothing to say.

As Erin moves back to the sidelines, she notices Hideki Ryuga strolling up to her, gracing her with one of his trademark heart-quivering smiles. "Well, I can't say that I'm not disappointed that I don't get to kiss Misa-Misa, but if a girl is spoken for, you should respect that. But you...are you spoken for, too?"

Huh? Erin jolts a little. Why wouldn't she? A pop idol besides Misa has just come up to her and asked if she was single. "Uhm…why do you ask?"

Ryuga laughs, "Can you blame a guy when he meets a pretty girl and wants to know if she already has a boyfriend?"

Pretty. Hideki Ryuga has just called her pretty. It isn't likely that he's being serious; it's just a little innocent flirtation, as most celebrities are notorious for. All the same, Erin can feel those palpitations coming back strong. Likewise, can you blame a girl for getting bashful when a pop star tells her something like that?

"Th-thank you," is all she can manage, her gaze darting toward the fountain where Misa is coaching Light how to lean over her, where to put his hands and everything. It's getting harder to resist the urge to rock on her heels. Ryuga may look vaguely like Ryuzaki, but man, is he a lot nicer than his counterpart.

"So you're a friend of Misa's, I take it?"

"Yeah, I am, you could say that. Her boyfriend goes to the same school I do, and that's how we met, through him." That technically is not a lie. The only thing she's left out was that she and Light were not nearly as close as she's implying. "I'm just here to support her."

"You seem like a good friend. You must be, to encourage her guy to come over here and be stunt double for her."

Oh, boy. He heard that conversation? "Actually, that was more of her manager's idea. It just sounded like a good idea to me."

"Say, it doesn't look like you're from around here…are you an exchange student?"

He also seems to be a smidge dimmer than his counterpart. Couldn't he tell that from looking at her? She fiddles with the brim of her hat. "Uh, y-yeah. America. New York, to be exact."

"Ooh, a foreigner. So it's true, what they say about American girls." He doesn't specify what exactly he means by that, but Erin assumes it to be something positive, if the way he winks at her is any indication. Oh God, she feels like she's going to die!

She grins, then notices him pulling out a notepad and a pen. "I've gotten so caught up, I've almost forgotten to ask: what's your name?"

"M-my name?" It's been established in no uncertain terms that she can't go by her real name as long as she's with Light and Misa, not unless she wants to get in trouble with Ryuzaki, whom she wants nothing to do with, at the moment. But what about her alias? Something doesn't feel right about giving an alias to a celebrity.

She decides to go for the midway point. "Just call me E." It's not like they're going to meet again for dinner and a movie, or anything.

"Just E.? Okay, then." Ryuga scribbles two lines of loopy kanji in purple ink, then tears off the paper and hands it to her. Sure enough, she reads the following words:

To E. With a kiss, Ryuga Hideki. 

It takes her longer than it should to realize that she's just gotten an autograph from a pop star. With a kiss. "Oh gosh, tha—thank you so much! I—I don't know what to—I mean, I—thank you so much!" Her tongue threatens to paste itself to the roof of her mouth and stay there.

"Don't mention it. Any friend of Misa's is a friend of mine, too. Oh, I'd better get back to the powder room; it'll be my turn again soon. Have a wonderful night, E.!"

"Yeah, yeah, you too!"

Wow. An autograph from a pop idol. And she barely had to do anything for it. This day may have turned out to be a good one, after all. She truly does owe Misa big time; she even almost forgets about being mad at Ryuzaki.

At least, until the wind picks up. All of this excitement has made her grip lax. It would be her undoing.

"What the—h-hey, get back here!" She chases after the dancing signature almost like her younger self did back in the days when she and her brother would try to catch fireflies at her grandparents' house. It isn't long until Matsuda sees her distress and rushes in to help her, bumbling as he is. Up to a point, they manage to stay out of the shot when the autograph lands, wedged under Ryuzaki's toes.

He picks it up like it's a used tissue and holds it out at arm's length. As he reads the sparkling purple print, Erin stomps up to him, huffing red. "Oh, for crying out loud. Hey, you, that's mine, give it back!"

"Hey, you?" She addresses him callously, like he's a stranger. In a way, he could say he is.

"Have you gone deaf? I said give it back."

"You're making quite a fuss over a measly signature. What's so important about it?" he asks neutrally.

"What's it to you? You're not into that sort of thing, anyways. Now can you please give that back?"

He stares at her outstretched hand blankly, concentrating on the feel of the wind sweeping through his hair, and the way it plays with some of the straggling strands on her own head.

"Very well. I have no use for it, as you've said…oops."

No sooner than he lets go, the autograph bolts upwards into the air. Crying out in dismay, Erin shoves him aside (inadvertently tugging Light away from Misa, in the process) to chase after it, stumbles briefly over the chain in a flapping of limbs, but it's all in vain. It flutters in the breeze like a baby bird learning to fly before landing on the far side of the fountain. In the water, where the ink proceeds to run into oblivion.

She and Matsuda circle around the fountain. Matsuda proceeds to kneel on the edge and reach out to grab it. It's no use. It's drifting too far out of reach unless he's willing to get wet.

She curses to herself as she tears her hat off her head. "Thanks a lot, Ryuzaki, what was that for? You did that just to be a tool, didn't you?"

He doesn't dignify her words with an answer, preferring to nibble on his fingernail, instead. Easy come, easy go. On the bright side, at least now they have semi-amusing material for an outtake.

Predictably, the crew is back in almost as much of an uproar as they were the first time. Will this night ever end? "Cut, cut!" shouts Abe in frustration. "You ruined the shot! Now we have to start all over!" By the way he says that, it almost sounds in Erin's ears that this may be the last time she ever accompanies Misa to work again.

"That's okay!" Misa cheers, clinging to an extremely flustered and rather regretful Light's neck and not looking the least bit upset that the shot has been trashed. In this case, she can make an exception. "Misa could kiss Light all day, if she has to!"


	17. Surprise

It happens in a flash. One minute, the trio is cruising down the freeway, on their way back to headquarters after a successful trip to one of Misa's favorite malls (one of the few successes anyone's made, these days). The next—

BANG!

What sounds like a gunshot on the left from behind them has all of them yelping as Matsuda hastily pulls over to the side of the road before he loses control of the wheel. But no assassin is chasing after them, which for some reason is the first scenario in Erin's mind. Instead, it's—

"Damn it! A flat, now?" the driver bemoans from just outside Misa's side of the car. Neither passenger can hear him over the roar of oblivious or single-minded drivers passing them by.

"Matsu?"

Misa undoes her seat belt and rolls down the window, peering out like a little child as she squirms onto her knees.

"What's the matter? Misa doesn't like that look on your face."

By the time Erin has wiggled out of her seat to scoot up behind the idol, Matsuda has already gotten up off his knees, as flustered as smoked salmon. He swallows, "Bad news, guys: looks like we've got a flat. W-we must've run over a nail or something."

Dismayed and quite miffed, Misa pouts. "What? You mean you drove over a nail, Matsu."

"Hey, cut 'im some slack, Misa. If you were the one driving, you probably wouldn't have seen that nail on the road," chides Erin.

The two stare each other down in the mildest sense of the phrase while Matsuda drums his fingers against the car. Suddenly, his face lights up. "Oh! No worries, I've got a spare and jack in the trunk in case of times like these. Hang in there! We'll be back on the road in no time."

Easier said than done, as it turns out. There is indeed a spare tire in the trunk when Matsuda throws the cover open. The problem?

No jack.

Matsuda has had so much on his mind, lately. The case is still at a standstill, and when he isn't walking on eggshells with Aizawa or rushing back and forth to get coffee, he's all but had his hands tied with the pressures that come with being Misa-Misa's manager, especially with her debut on the big screen on the way.

It's no excuse, though. Why is it that every time he thinks he's prepared for something, it ends up blindsiding him, anyhow? He almost doesn't even want to come back around the front of the car. There he stands, hands clutching the cover of the trunk, heat and sweat condensing on his brow despite the cool September weather. The only two people on the road he's able to hide his face from are the girls watching him from the rear view, their vision of him blocked by the trunk's cover.

"Yo, Matsu! What's the hold-up?"

"…Uh…I…"

"You can't change the tire, can you, Matsu?"

"Well, I-I wouldn't say that, we've got a spare and everything, it's just—"

His shoulders slump in defeat. He's going to be in so much trouble when this is over, but why fight the inevitable? Scratching the back of his head until his scalp is tender, he squeaks, "Yeah. I can't find the jack. I must not have put it back when I finished cleaning out the car…

"Oh man. Ryuzaki's sure to snap his crank when we get back." He's at least able to take care not to say "if we get back." The last thing he wants to do is worry the girls.

Misa taps a finger to her cheek, her tweaked eyebrows knitting together. "Misa can think of someone else whose crank is gonna snap soon."

Erin's stomach cramps when that name is mentioned. He's the last thing she wants to discuss right now, or the rest of the week, possibly the rest of her life, if she had her way. It's been almost two days since their latest falling-out, and he still hasn't shown signs of remorse, never mind given his apology. Shopping for the birthday boy's special day tomorrow had taken him off her mind for a good part of the day. Now that he's back, her grudge festers like an infected cut.

"And that's how your car got a flat and why we don't have a jack to fix it: because all you can think about is Ryuzaki's crank," she mutters sourly.

It isn't uncommon for Misa and Matsuda to be out late on work days, especially with the shooting of director Nishinaka's latest production still in progress. But sometimes, on one of her precious days off, Misa would ask Erin to go out with her and Matsuda on the town, an offer that Erin has never refused. On these outings, Ryuzaki calls to check in more frequently, mostly to ask about where they are. Particularly when they're out for longer than they should be.

Scratch that. Particularly when they're out for longer than he thinks they should be.

This time, it's Matsu who calls on Ryuzaki. Through his belt, built in with a signal that he and the others had been explicitly advised when they'd first gotten them to activate only in times of emergency. Well, this is as much of an emergency as emergencies come. It's getting late, and the girls are getting cold, no matter how tightly they wrap their jackets around themselves or huddle together. If their complaints are of any indication.

Sure enough, Matsuda's J-rock ringtone blares from out of the confines of his pocket. Number cannot be displayed. Matsuda fumbles with the phone in his fingers for four seconds before he opens it. "H-hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Matsuda. Where are you, at the moment? Why did you use the belt?"

Matsuda takes a deep breath to steel his nerves. "Ryuzaki, hi there! I…I'm really sorry about using the belt, we're all okay. But see, we—I drove over a nail on the freeway on our way back, and—"

"Your car has a flat tire, Matsuda?"

In his anxiety, Matsuda doesn't notice that he's strolling alongside the car. "Yes."

"Do you have a spare?"

"I do. Except—"

"You have no jack to prop up the car so that you can replace the tire."

Matsuda whimpers like a puppy that's just been spanked for whizzing on the carpet, as much as he bites it back. "Y-yeah. That pretty much sums everything."

"There is no point in having a spare tire without a jack, Mr. Matsuda."

"I-I know. Can anyone from headquarters drive up here with one?"

Having had more than enough at this point, Erin asks Misa to scoot over, her arm pawing at her friend's elbow out the window. "Matsu, can I have the phone, for a sec?"

"What? You want the—why?"

"Please. I've got something to say to Ryuzaki."

Matsu has a vague inkling that whatever she wants to say won't be nice, and his face tightens more and more with discomfort. But in the end, he hands the bright orange device over, briefly wondering if the sheer inability to say no to anyone can be considered a disability.

"Hang on, Elin wants to, uh, talk."

Erin doesn't mince words or beat around the bush. Probably because she's only talking into a phone and not right to his face. "Where do you get off making him look like a fool?"

"That is not my intention here, Miss Crocker. He doesn't need me to make him look like a fool."

"Damn right, he doesn't!" No one notices Matsuda's face deepening from salmon-pink to a near plum-red. "So he screwed up. In case you haven't noticed, we humans screw up on the daily. Someone screwed up by leaving a nail out on the damn road, and we screwed up by running over it. But it's not like any of us lost a limb or anything. Misa, did you lose life or limb on this trip?"

"The only thing Misa's losing right now is her patience."

"How 'bout you, Matsu?"

"N-no…"

"You can count my vote as a third 'nay.' And, unlike certain people who shall remain anonymous, we actually did something productive. We went out and got presents to surprise Mogi with for his birthday tomorrow. I'll bet my bottom dollar you didn't even get him a card."

"…Was I supposed to?" he asks, innocently enough. As in, enough to make her cross-eyed with fury.

"Aw, what? You're yanking my chain, right? Guys, are you hearing this? Apparently, Ryuzaki doesn't think you're supposed to give people presents for their birthday." The girls had always thought of Ryuzaki as something of a dipstick (Erin more so than Misa), but surely even he would know about something as basic as birthday courtesies?

"No way! C'mon, Ryuzaki," Misa shouts into the phone over Erin's shoulder, "how can you not know that? You give people gifts on their birthday to let them know that you appreciate them and their existence, which is what we're doing for Mochi! Hasn't anyone ever given you gifts for your birthday?"

…

Misa blinks, as though having a second thought. "Hey, when is your birthday, anyway?"

"That, Misa, is classified. It's not something that you should be asking, since you are still a suspect. I hate to cut this conversation short, but Matsuda has yet to give your whereabouts. I need him back on the line, please. Now, if possible."

The pigtails on top of Misa's head prickle as she yanks Erin's wrist over so as to have the phone directly in her face. "Oh yeah? Well, here's what Misa thinks of your suspicions: Phhbt!" She blows a raspberry into the receiver before letting go of Erin's wrist.

Then it's Erin's turn to hoist the phone up to her face. "And this is what I think of you in general: Phhhhbt!"

Actually, he deserves the bird far more than a lousy raspberry, except he wouldn't be able to see it, at the moment. The phone has a camera feature to snap and send pictures, but this isn't her phone, to begin with, and she doesn't know where to fire it even if she could. Unsatisfied, she thrusts it back into a flabbergasted Matsuda's hands. "Here ya go, Matsu. We've said all there is to say."

Matsuda eyes the phone warily before pausing to wipe off the receiver with the edge of his sleeve. He gives the details of their location as best and as clearly as he can—Route 1, coming back from Hibiya and shy of Exit 14. By the time the two men hang up, Matsuda breathes, "It'll be okay, guys. Someone from headquarters is going to come over with a jack. We'll be home, soon."

He vaguely dreads that it'd be Aizawa or Mr. Yagami. Aizawa would never let him hear the end of it, and he doesn't want to look any more embarrassing to his Chief than he already does.

Erin pokes her head out the window, scoffing. "Listen, I know he's head honcho and everything, but you've gotta stop worrying so much about what Ryuzaki thinks. First of all, because it's throwing you off your game, and second, it's Mogi's birthday. This whole thing is for Mogi. Is it Ryuzaki's birthday?"

"N-no. I don't think so. He never mentioned anything about it…come to think of it, I don't think he's told anyone when his birthday is, at all."

…

For a second, Erin remembers how Ryuzaki hadn't answered either of Misa's questions. Whether he'd ever gotten anything for his own birthday, whenever the hell that is. She mentally curses when the cramps in her stomach start to intensify. What's wrong with that kid? "So…it's not important. Why sweat over a chump who won't even tell you when his birthday is, when you've got a dependable and trustworthy friend and coworker whose birthday you do know?"

"Yeah!" cheers Misa. Matsuda winces at the word "chump."

"If he won't tell us because he thinks it'll clue us in on his identity or something, then—then he's a real dipstick. Millions of people were probably born on the same day he was," Erin spits, shaking her head.

No one notices Matsuda's cringing at "dipstick."

…

"That's weird. You usually insist on having the last word during an argument." Provided that that's what one could call Erin's rant over the phone.

Like that had never happened, L resumes typing at his computer. "I've heard that sometimes the best way to manage a dog's incessant barking is to simply let it bark itself out. Giving it any acknowledgment at all, however negative, tends to reinforce the behavior rather than discourage it."

"Ryuzaki! Calling someone a dog, a woman, no less—are you—"

"I'm only drawing a comparison, Light," says Ryuzaki calmly. His gaze never leaves the monitor in front of him. "There's no need to read that deeply into everything I say, is there? Besides, there are times when people aren't so different from animals. People, like dogs, crave attention. And if they think barking will give them the attention they seek, then that's what they'll do."

Light's own gaze narrows in annoyed understanding. "You still haven't apologized to her, have you? She's been on this tear for days."

"And you would know, given that we've been together twenty-four hours of each one."

"Grow up, why don't you? You both need to. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like we'll be able to wait for you to do that yourselves, so if you won't make peace…I'll just have to do it on your behalf, don't I?"

"No one said that you had to, Light. It's not your problem."

Light closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. Ryuzaki isn't worth breaking his knuckles, not now. "It shouldn't be, but it's becoming my problem."

"Yes, always the Good Samaritan. Perhaps that's how I would think, as well…if I were Kira."

Having the multitasking mind that he does, Ryuzaki is able to simultaneously argue with Light and remember what the girls had said. Kanzo Mogi's birthday is indeed close, isn't it? September 13th. He and everyone will be too busy to have any real celebration, so the trouble-making trio had taken it upon themselves to buy him gifts. "To make him feel appreciated."

From what he knows about birthdays, there are also sweets involved, cake, in particular. With candles. He can't see the practicality of sticking lit candles into a perfectly good cake, since the wax will melt into the frosting and ruin it. Not to mention, blowing out said candles is an effective way of spreading pathogens. And you have to share the cake, despite the fact that it's yours.

His spidery fingers hover millimeters over the keyboard before dancing across the keys. "We'll send Mr. Mogi with that jack. Given that his birthday is tomorrow, I'd imagine that he'd be quite anxious to see what the others have gotten him."

…

If Mogi is even slightly miffed about the entire thing, his chagrin doesn't show on his face, apart from the creases of weariness etched into his thick brow. Not that that's anything new; everyone on the task force has been getting those.

Looks like the surprise has been ruined. Somehow, Erin's not surprised. Ryuzaki has to ruin everything good. They didn't even get the chance to wrap everything.

While the men grunt and hoist the back of the car an inch off the ground at a time, Erin lightly nudges Misa in the ribs from the sideline. "Why'd he have to send Mogi? Now there's no surprise, anymore," she whispers.

"It's because Mochi's got muscles. A lot of muscle is useful for jacking up a car."

Their muttering prompts Mogi to look up from the ground, wiping the slight sheen of sweat from his forehead. "Hm? A surprise? Sorry about spoiling it. For what it's worth, I'm not a huge fan of surprises, anyway." Words of comfort aren't his strongest point.

Misa glares at Erin, who tugs on her shirt collar, averting her eyes. Sometimes it's hard to tell which of them has the bigger mouth.

Once the tire is secured, Matsuda pulls out a handkerchief to wipe the grime from their hands. "Ah, Mogi? I'm really sorry about making you come out here in the cold. We can't thank you enough."

"Just remember to have a jack for next time," Mogi replies mildly. If there's anyone in the group who won't give you a hard time about mistakes, Mogi is them. The rest of the drive is uneventful: with Matsuda leading and Mogi watching their back. Only when they are inside the nice warmth of headquarters do they present their gifts. Might as well get it over with, since there's no surprise anymore.

From Matsuda: a brand-new sushi kit ("I know how much you like making your own sushi!").

From Erin: a polished red bowling ball, in its own carrying case ("Bowling helps me to unwind; maybe it'll help you, too?").

From Misa: an apron with a kiss-mark on the front ("When Misa found this and saw the words 'Kiss the Cook' on it, it made Misa think of you!").

Mogi handles each gift individually, trying not to look too overwhelmed. Oh, he is flattered and grateful; he just isn't used to being showered with so much attention at once, even if it is his birthday, which is still a day away. He's not even sure when he'll find the time to put these presents to use.

The kicker comes in the form of two bowling shirts, from the girls. "We didn't know your size, so we just got the biggest they offered. Misa wanted to get you the pink one, but I insisted that you'd like blue better. In the end, we decided, 'To heck with it. Let's get him both.'"

"Can you blame Misa? Pink looks great on Mochi!"

…

Matsuda bites back a titter. Mogi blinks. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"We'd have gotten the shirts personalized, but you don't like flashy stuff like that, do you, Mochi?" That may be a little late for that.

"That, and you-know-who might've got a pickle up his butt if we gave you stuff that had your name printed on them."

"Erm…thank you for this, guys. You really shouldn't have."

"Oh, but we had to, Mochi! Happy Almost-Birthday!" They come down on him like hornets. As soon as Misa wraps her slender arms around him, Erin jumps up from behind him, getting him in a headlock as he starts to rub her knuckles across his scalp in a noogie.

"Yeah, Happy Birthday, big guy! You rock!"

All he can do is sit there, in one of the few helpless moments of his life. Fluff: his greatest weakness. "Uh…"

But he has to draw a line somewhere when Matsu, feeling left out, begins to step forward with his arms outstretched. "Matsu, don't. Please."

Matsu droops. "Awww…"

…

In spite of the three's planned birthday surprise bottoming out, Mogi is not spared from someone else's, the next morning. It isn't until he steps out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and dripping wet from the shower, does he notice it on his bureau, on his way to the closet.

No card, no candle. No indications about who'd left it there besides pure speculation on his end. Only a plate topped with sweet potato cake, lined with several slices of mochi. Mogi's favorite desserts (the latter of which is the origin of Misa's nickname for him).

He picks up a piece of mochi while his other hand holds the knot in his towel together. Could it be from Matsuda and the girls? Possibly, though he finds it a bit strange that they hadn't left any cards or anything of that sort. Then again, they'd given him more birthday fluff the night before than he could ask for. Maybe it's from Watari? A collaboration, perhaps?

There's no need to make a big deal of it, he decides, taking a deliberate bite from a slice of mochi. He closes his eyes to savor the flavor, planning to wrap up the leftovers for later as he pulls out his clothes for the day. He appreciates their thoughts, nevertheless. If there's anyone in the group who will not make a fuss over what shouldn't be made a fuss over, Mogi is them.


	18. Impulse

Fifteen minutes ago, Matsuda had been sent away to brew a fresh pot of coffee, fuel for another all-nighter. Neither he nor the requested beverage, never mind both, have materialized in the monitor room since then. Further investigation with a disgruntled Light in tow reveals an empty kitchenette and a now lukewarm pot of coffee.

Surveillance reveals a grinning Matsuda on Misa's couch in slippers, a large bowl of popcorn settled next to him (plain, not the good caramel- or chocolate-coated kind). All light sources in the room are off except several scented candles scattered in the corners and a flashlight in Matsuda's hand, which he aims at the center of the wall. Misa and "Elin" are sitting at his feet in their nightwear, making shapes with their hands in front of the light and giggling at the shadows projected on the wall.

Shadow puppetry?

Elin holds up a fist and moves it in front of the light in what is supposed to be a hopping motion, wiggling two fingers for ears and protruding the tip of her thumb to look like a nose. She has shaped her hand to look like a—

"Ooh-ooh! That's a rabbit, isn't it? A cute little bunny-rabbit!" Misa coos.

"It could be a rabbit. Or—don't blink now…"

Elin turns her hand ninety degrees and cranes her wrist so that her two fingers become a bill, her forearm is a long neck, and her thumb becomes a stubby tongue between them. She snaps her two fingers open and shut, like she's trying to imitate quacking.

"…it could be a duck! Aflac™! Aflac™!"

For some reason, Misa and Matsuda find this reference to an insurance company completely hilarious; Matsuda almost drops the flashlight and his elbow sinks into the popcorn, he's laughing that hard. When it's Misa's turn, she flutters her hands like wings over Elin's "duck," her thumbs crossed over one another.

"I know what that is!" guesses Matsuda between gasps. "That's a butterfly, isn't it, Misa-Misa?"

Ryuzaki doesn't like the way she's smirking. "Maybe. It could be a butterfly…or it could be a bat that's gonna suck the blood out of your duck!" She wastes no time pretending to hiss as she swoops her "bat" over to latch onto the head of Elin's "duck." Before long, the girls are wrestling on the floor, with Elin stuck between squealing with laughter and crying "Aflac™!" over and over like the tortured waterfowl she's supposed to be imitating.

None of them take notice of his or Light's presence in the doorway.

He can't say he's thrilled about seeing her fraternizing with the Second Kira like they're best girlfriends, never mind that Misa Amane does not currently seem to have any of the Second Kira's powers or memories. He knew what he was getting into when he'd put Matsuda in charge of her, but Misa and Light were never supposed to know of her involvement in the case. It's a miracle that she still has enough sense not to give out her real name, or who Ryuzaki actually is, or that she had once seen—or thought she had seen—a "monster" upon bumping into her on the town.

(They both seem to have forgotten, really. Women seem to have a fairly fickle sense of memory; this can work for one or against one.)

It's not as if he can say anything about it. Or he could, but she won't listen to him, whenever she can help it. No one shares in his suspicions regarding Misa or Light, but she scoffs them, especially. Besides, she isn't the type to turn down an offer that she hadn't had to break a bone for to "hang out" with a celebrity. Especially one of Misa's caliber.

It's all fun and games until Elin yelps in mild pain, exemplifying the dangers of fooling around with someone with long nails. She drops the act in an instant. "Ow! I think you just scratched me, Misa."

"Ohmygosh, Misa's sorry!" Misa jumps up almost instantly while Matsuda bends in for a look, equally concerned. "Misa didn't mean to. Is Elin okay?"

Matsuda, in an attempt to be helpful, shines the flashlight on the two girls as Elin nurses her hand. "Yeah, I think so. Didn't draw any blood, from what I can see…"

"Don't worry, Elin! I know how to make it better," offers Matsuda. He spreads his fingers apart to create the shape of a dog's head with his hand, generating whiny barking noises—they sound whiny in Ryuzaki's ears, anyway, like a puppy's—as he starts to lightly flick her around the cheek and tip of her nose with his fingertips. Trying to simulate how a dog might lick someone's face, he assumes.

Elin goes right back to sputtering that hearty laugh of hers as she tries to wiggle out of his reach. Her glasses almost fall off of her face. "Aha, M-Matsu, stop! Cut it out!"

…Something about it seems a bit off. This isn't what most people would call inappropriate behavior, although it is very moronic. These two have no trouble or qualms in acting moronic with each other, no matter who's watching. But he's never had problems with seeing it, before. Maybe it's because she keeps telling him to stop, though her peals of laughter contradict the meaning of her words. Misa has already scratched her; suppose he pokes her eye?

His stomach slightly curdles. He must be undergoing the early stages of caffeine withdrawal.

"It's my understanding that when someone tells you to stop, you must stop," he mutters. That grabs their attention.

As soon as Misa peeks behind the couch and sees Light with his chin in his hand, deep in thought, she quickly forgets about Elin's injury. The hem of her black silk nightgown lifts a little higher than it should as she springs upward to greet him before settling back over her thighs. "Light, what a treat! Here Misa was, thinking you'd be too busy to come to our sleepover! Even if Ryuzaki has to be here, too…"

"Hello, Misa," Light mumbles, his mind somewhere else, as though he is trying to piece something together. "Aflac™…that's an American company, but at least a quarter of all Japanese households are insured by them. Or they were. The CEO of their Japanese branch, last week…"

"Actually, we've come to fetch Matsuda," Ryuzaki deadpans. "You left a perfectly good pot's worth of coffee to almost spoil." In all actuality, he couldn't care less if the coffee was piping hot or at room temperature, but he also knows that Matsuda doesn't like being told that he's failed at something.

He did get into the Japanese police force chiefly through connections.

This hits said co-worker like a brick to his forehead. "Aw, shoot! I-I'm really sorry, guys! I was getting that coffee, I swear! B-but then Misa-Misa and Elin needed popcorn, and…well, uh, I…"

"You were sidetracked, Matsuda. We understand. In fact, it doesn't surprise us in the least. You can make up for it by brewing a fresh serving for us."

Elin folds her arms and scowls. "And what if he don't wanna? He's busy with us, so if you really need a caffeine fix, just drink the pot he already made. Coffee was coffee, last I checked."

He hears her speaking, sees her lips move, but isn't quite listening. He's observing the way she pushes her glasses back up on her face. Besides, it isn't as though she's saying anything terribly important. She's just trying to get a rise out of him, like she's been doing since they'd moved in to the new headquarters, while trying to impress her company with firmer backbone than she actually has. He can tell this by the way she won't make direct eye contact with him.

He knows Matsuda will do it, no matter what Elin says. He's already planted the seeds of inadequacy into his conscience.

"You know, you've got a lot of nerve, telling us to stop when we're told to. We've all been telling you to quit being a bum for a while now, but you haven't shown any signs of listening." Picking up the flashlight Matsuda has dropped, she aims the light towards the wall before making a fist in front of it. Just a fist.

Misa blinks. "What's that? A rock? An onion? A mushroom?"

"Actually, this is Ryuzaki. But all the aforementioned are pretty close guesses, where he's concerned."

She glances over her shoulder to see Ryuzaki's reaction to this, but he has none. He's gone, and so is Light, who takes his turn in leading them out of the doorway, having said something about "needing to look something up." Poor Light, being forced to pick up that deadbeat's slack on top of being the "prime suspect" and having said deadbeat stuck to him like gum in his hair.

Maybe she should've taken the time to ask them if her contacts have come in, yet? But that might've been a stupid question. Obviously, they haven't, or else they'd have given them to her. Right?

And where's Matsuda off to, in such a hurry?

"Matsu? Where ya going?"

"Um, pardon me ladies, I'd better go get that coffee straightened out."

Elin wilts a little. "Why should you? Just because you work for Ryuzaki, doesn't mean you're at his constant beck and call. You shouldn't be."

Matsuda's smile is an odd combination of gentle, harried, and sheepish. "That's easy for you to say. He's not your boss," he says before fumbling out the door.

Damn straight, he's not. 

A dark impulse from the back of her mind compels her to create another bird with her fist, one that also reminds her of Ryuzaki. By raising her third finger. She rarely flips the bird, but when it feels right, she'll flip it quick and high and all will be right again. Just not where anyone can see outright. Or at least, that's the ideal. And lately, Ryuzaki has been pushing her more and more, so why not now?

Unless Misa has something to say about it. She hastily switches off the flashlight, leaving the melting candles as the sole light source in the room. "Elin, put that away! This is Misa's apartment!"

The scented wax smells a bit headier to her than a moment before. "Huh, what? Aw come on, y-you can't tell me he doesn't deserve it."

"I don't care. Give him a raspberry or anything else, but you're not going to lift that finger while you're in my apartment. Have a little more class, Elin! I know you do. You're lucky the guys left before they saw you do it. Guys don't like girls who do that, unless they're really trashy." Misa must really not like the bird if it makes her speak in first-person.

Her cheeks burn almost as brightly as the candles as she's tempted to pull on the collar of her orange cream-colored pajamas. She's not the only one who should be told to have some decency and a few other things, if not more so than she.


	19. Holes

With the boys back downstairs, it isn't long before the girls go wild. Wild in the "jumping on Misa's bed, throwing pillows at each other, and squealing like the tweens they used to be while native pop music blasts at max volume from Misa's boom box" sense.

Misa starts it. Being the spontaneous girl she is, she lures her neighbor into her bedroom, lulling her into a false sense of security as she lets Erin sink in the room: spacious, dim-lit, fragrant, and decorated here and there with some of her favorite Gothic paraphernalia. Even her collection of plushies, some of them with big red eyes, chains, crosses or broad stitches around the mouth and limbs, do little but add to the playful creepiness of the room (or creepy playfulness, Erin can't decide).

For the briefest of moments, Erin can somehow imagine old L sitting among them in his little monkey-crouch. He could probably sit there between the pandas and never be noticed…which prompts her to quit imagining this before it creeps her out too much. L isn't going to ruin the night any more than he already has.

Erin swallows, slightly intimidated by the four-foot, wide-eyed porcelain doll dressed in black and lace, lying flat in a glass case on the vanity as a body would in a casket (and that's only for starters). "Wow, Misa. I…you sure have a way with sprucing up a place."

Misa bounces in after her and shuts the door, the cobwebs that make up the hem of her silky nightgown gliding over her smooth, white thighs. "Well, if Misa has to live here, she has the right to at least be comfortable, right? So Misa had the task force move some things in from Misa's real apartment."

"Oh yeah, I hear ya." Given what L had put her through in prison, Misa deserves the royal treatment, not just her creature comforts.

While Erin stares at the statuette of what looks like the Grim Reaper—complete with flowing hooded robe and intricate scythe—Misa pops a CD into her boom box and pushes "Play." Instantly, Japanese lyrics weave their way into Erin's ears through an accompanying piano, snare drum and electric guitar, the melody upbeat and yet strangely ethereal, wistful, even.

"The pleasures of earth can't compare to what awaits at Heaven's door,

And I believe I can endure the pain, if only for you,

Please forgive me for making you wait…"

Her heads snaps up in recognition of the voice. "Say, Misa. The girl singing this song sounds kinda like you. Or is that just me?"

Misa digs her bare toes into the carpet. "Oh, that's probably because this is Misa singing," she answers coyly.

Erin's cheeks prickle with heat. "Aw, what? No fooling? Wow, Misa! Not only are you a model and an actress, you're a singer, too?"

Misa twirls a blonde pigtail around her finger, letting slivers of pride shine through her voice. "Well, the music is dabbling more than anything. Misa only has one album out, so far…with at least two or three hit singles, already." With her free hand, she holds up a CD case with her picture on the cover, bordered by blue roses and the words Heaven's Door in small white print. Named after Misa's number one hit single, the song that is currently chiming in the background.

Her guest whistles and grins. "You sure are a busy gal. Can't channel all that charm through just one medium, huh, Misa-Misa?"

"Nope! Misa has too much energy. You can ask anyone."

"So, you write your own songs?"

"Misa didn't write all of the songs on the album, but some, yes. 'Heaven's Door,' definitely. The song, of course. Misa also played the piano, not to brag."

Erin cocks her head, her grin becoming sheepish with vague inadequacy. "Is that right? You play instruments?"

"The piano. Or the keyboard, which is kind of the same thing, I guess. But we couldn't fit an actual piano in this building; Misa had to settle for the keyboard, instead." She gestures a long red nail towards the matching instrument propped in the corner. "I goof around with that thing when the mood strikes me."

"Jealousy! Color me green. Say, maybe you and me can come up with a song or two sometime. Nothing serious, though we'd make a dynamite team, probably," Erin babbles, her face burning all the hotter at the idea of writing songs with the Misa-Misa, despite not knowing the first thing about the craft. What a thing to write home about. If she could write about it, that is.

This earns a sly giggle from the idol as she shuffles around her American companion until she's at the foot of the bed, reaching behind her in what appears to Erin to be tired stretching across the sheets. Erin notices out of the corner of her eye how her nightgown rides somewhat up her thighs, and quickly focuses on her face instead. "What's the matter?" she asks, mildly disappointed. "Time to turn in, already?"

"Misa wishes it wasn't, but it's starting to feel like it. Even Misa can get beat, sometimes."

"Uhm, that's understandable. So, where am I gonna sleep? The couch out there, or here on the floor?"

"Elin can sleep here on the floor, if she wants. Just let Misa get you a few blankets…and a pillow!"

Thwop!

Before she knows it, Erin is stumbling backwards into the J-rock poster pasted to the door, recoiling from having just had a pillow slammed into her face while Misa rockets back onto her feet, shrieking with glee and victory. "Gotcha!"

"H-hey, no fair! I'm not even armed!"

"All's fair in love and war, Elin," Misa says frivolously before making another lunge. With her hands over her head as a shield, Erin somehow manages to trudge through the onslaught towards the bed to grab for a weapon of her own and so level the playing field, shrieking all the way, regardless. Misa Amane is full of surprises.

Soon enough, the girls spend who's counting how long chasing each other around the room, braining each other as much and as hard as they can with their sacks of silk and feathers while trying to dodge the other's blows and avoid stubbing their toes on the furniture. Erin can't tell which is louder: the music, her pulse roaring in her ears in rhythm, or their peals of laughter.

When they are each on either side of the now disheveled bed, Erin spins the pillow around by the corner before she gives it a great big fling. "This is payback for playing dirty! Ka-me-ha-me-HAH!"

The projectile sails soundlessly through the air. Misa ducks. Its landing, however, isn't nearly as quiet.

CRASH! 

When Misa squirms around and squeals again, she doesn't sound quite as happy as five seconds ago. Actually, she sounds more horrified. It never took much to get Erin rattled to begin with, but just hearing Misa cry out like that is enough to imbue her with horror, as well. She drops her other pillow.

"Oh crap! Oh God, Misa, I'm sorry! I am so sorry! I-I didn't—I didn't break anything, did I? I didn't mean to!" She scrambles over the bed—momentarily snagging her foot in the pile of sheets—to survey the damage a little more closely. There aren't many things you can do when visiting someone's abode that are worse than breaking their stuff (clogging the toilet comes pretty close, but that's because it's almost the same thing).

Misa herself is unharmed. Scattered at the foot of her vanity is a candle-holder with a crucifix protruding from it—unlit, thank goodness—a Hello Kitty™ keychain, several jars of makeup, and a small polished picture frame lying face-down. Misa dives for the frame first, like it's something incredibly valuable. Keeping it perched in her lap, she sinks to the floor, curled up in almost a protective ball around it.

Erin isn't sure whether to come any closer at first, but instinct overrules caution, and before long, she's knelt down to Misa's level in front of her. "You okay, Misa? I-I didn't break that, did I?"

Misa shakes her head. "Doesn't seem like it. And even if you did break the frame, it wouldn't have been a big deal. It's the picture Misa's worried about."

Upon craning her neck and stretching over to see what the fuss is about, it suddenly becomes much clearer. A girl that looks quite a bit like Misa, if younger, smiles back at them both, kneeling in the sand, giving a peace sign. However, this girl isn't blond and wearing little pigtails; her hair is dark, with a single lock tied into a ponytail as the rest of her hair falls free down her shoulders and back. She isn't wearing any black or lace or chains, either; she's in a white two-piece swimming suit.

To boot, there are people standing behind her. Three of them: a middle-aged man and woman, and a girl who appears to be in her early to mid-twenties, a ghost of a smile flickering through her lips, unlike Misa's, which spreads from ear to ear. All of them are in their beachwear. All of them seem happy. None of them are blonde.

…

"Hey. Is that…are those your folks?"

Misa nods, though doesn't make eye contact. Her gaze is locked intently into the memory in print. "Uh-huh."

"Where was that taken from?"

"Osaka. I'm actually from Kyoto, but I spent a lot of my childhood there in Osaka. That's where Mom and Dad spent the rest of their lives…"

A strange heaviness seems to hang over them like a canopy, drowning the room in near-silence. The music dies away from Erin's attention, and Misa's, from the sound of it. Or at least, it becomes like a refrigerator's hum: monotonous, and only noticeable when one is alone or it's the middle of the night.

"…They…seem like good people," Erin mutters. She may have never met the other Amanes, and this is certainly the closest she'll ever get to meeting them, but she finds no traces of hostility or any sort of ill intent in their faces. The older girl looks like she's having trouble smiling, but even she seems a decent character in her own right. In fact, looking at this family portrait makes her think of her own family back in New York. And how much she misses them.

How badly does Misa miss hers? Erin and her clan are separated merely by distance, mostly physical. Misa has lost hers to death.

"They were," Misa replies, a little too softly for her. "I wrote 'Heaven's Door' just for them, you know. I have this dream…I dream that they're waiting for me out there, like they always did since I was little…"

"And…who's the girl?" Erin asks, pointing a hesitant finger at the older girl towering over little Misa. "She your sister or something?"

"Yeah. Kimiko. She's not a celebrity like I am, but she's awesome with numbers. And she's married," she adds, like marriage is a grand accomplishment. And in a way, perhaps it is, Erin just hasn't thought that much about it.

It's only then does Erin notice that Misa has dropped her third-person speaking tic.

"W—was she—?"

Again, Misa shakes her head. "Kimi moved away from home long before the robbery. She had a teensy problem with drinking, but she's gotten better since then. For the most part, her life is normal." The way she says this, it's almost as though she wishes she had a piece of that normalcy that she claims her sister to have.

L won't let her discuss much about her own background; hell, Misa isn't even allowed to know her real name. Erin wishes she could contribute more to the conversation by sharing memories of her own older brother who's always been great at sports and currently works as a PE teacher's assistant for grade school kids, but she can't. Even if she had that liberty, what would it do for Misa to bring up fond memories of what Erin still has and what she has lost?

When they were first getting acquainted, Erin had been afraid to ask about Misa's family. After what the idol has to say next, she starts to remember why she'd been afraid.

"Sometimes I wish I were still with them."

Her finger tugs at the collar of her creamy orange pajamas. Taking her statement at face value, as she often does, Erin agrees, "I'll bet. I don't know what it's like to lose my parents…"

And to be frank, she isn't sure she wants to imagine such a possibility.

"But I can't imagine it to be easy, getting by without them—"

"That's not what I meant," Misa cuts in, stiffly. Too stiffly. Erin isn't sure she's used to this side of Misa. The Misa who loves the Gothic so much not just because she likes the style, but because it may be her odd way of mourning what cannot be brought back.

"I wonder sometimes, why I was spared. Why I didn't die along with them."

"M-maybe it wasn't your time?" Wrong thing to say.

Misa's face suddenly hardens with a dull resentment, like pain that arose from picking at an old wound that hadn't healed quite right, polishing her eyes with tears that prod at the lining of her eyelids. She's almost as dark as the whole room, maybe even darker. "But it was theirs? And even if it was, did it have to be so cruel and violent and bloody?"

Fuck L. Even if she is a professed Kira supporter, this girl can't be the Second Kira. Isn't the Second Kira supposed to be someone who kills remorselessly, not caring whether they have any right to take a life? A lot of Kira supporters wouldn't hurt a flea even if the chance was handed to them; in fact, that's why they support him. He can do what they can't. He's their protector. So they say.

"No, no, that's not what I—I mean, what happened to your mom and pop should never have happened. Never. But, look at everything you could've missed out on if…you know. I think your folks would've been a lot happier if you lived your life to the fullest. Which you are. You've got a good boyfriend, you're famous and talented, and you've got tons of adoring fans—"

Somehow these words make Misa's face soften again. Maybe she's said the right thing to pull the two of them out of this hole they'd somehow wound up in? Or she may be giving herself too much credit. Misa probably just knows what she's trying to do, and is cutting her some slack. "Misa does love her fans. And they love Misa. But fans aren't quite the same as family. They aren't always there when you need them. They expect a lot out of you, whereas family takes you as you are. And when you fall, fans don't always wait for you…"

"Wait. What about Kimiko? She's still around, ain't she?"

By this point, Misa presses the picture frame to her breast, head hanging over. "We…don't talk very much anymore. Haven't since the trial."

If this hadn't been too much for her to hear already, it surely is now. Erin is not used to the idea of having an estranged sibling, especially at a time when they might need each other the most. Sure, Farley can be a turd sometimes, but they still talk. She wants to tell Misa to go call this Kimiko girl up right now (9:55 at night), be sisters with her again. But is it really that simple? She doesn't know what kind of relationship the Amanes had before they'd stopped speaking to each other. Her mother had always told her that there was a fine line between caring and poking in where you don't belong (not that that'd always stopped her from doing it).

Come to think of it, how "teensy" was Kimi's drinking problem, anyway?

Like many others, Erin has fantasized about leading the lifestyle of the rich and famous. But her fantasies had never left room for how rough it could actually be. How lonely. Then again, that's probably why they're called fantasies, isn't it?

Sometimes there isn't much a friend can do for another—especially when they can't say anything remotely intelligent about the problem—except hold their hand. Which Erin does. As though afraid of getting bitten, she reaches over to slip her fingers around Misa's tiny hand, the one not clutching the picture so tightly to her chest.

"You…still want me to stay the night?" If Misa's mad at her, it wouldn't be the best idea to—

"Of course, you can stay. We've been having so much fun; why would Misa want you to leave?" She's looking up at her a bit more now, a smile stitching its way across her lips. She lightly squeezes back.

"Uh…no reason. You wanna get up? Dunno about you, but I think my legs are falling asleep."

Misa nods, and together they rise. Once they pick up everything else up off the floor, Erin rubs her aching, watering eyes. "Maybe we should turn in? I can sleep on the floor."

"Of course! Let Misa get you some blankets. Oh, and Elin?"

"Yeah?"

She shouldn't have dropped her guard.

Thwop! 

"Gotcha! Misa wins!"

It's a little disturbing, how rapidly Misa-Misa's emotions fluctuate. Even Erin isn't this random, or at least, she can't recall ever being so. The morning after, Misa is indisputably back to her bright, perky, third-person-referring self, as though she hadn't gotten the least bit teary-eyed about her old family photo the night before. Not wanting to see her like that again, Erin doesn't follow up on it. It's how Misa rolls. Maybe when this is all over, and she's no longer under suspicion—whenever that day may come—she'll have the time to properly work through her personal troubles.

There are some holes that even friends cannot fill in.


	20. Consolation

"Matsu, I know that investigating Yotsuba and managing Misa must eat up a lot of your time, but if you ever get a chunk of free time," "Elin" requests one day, "do you think you could…swing by Aizawa's, and apologize?"

He blinks back in response, learned instinct urging him to say, "Huh? You want me to apologize? What'd I do?" There have been times when he's thought that it should be Aizawa making the apology. That is, back when he was still working with the task force.

"Nothing you did. But someone needs to go see him, make sure he's okay. After…you know, that thing, with Ryuzaki…"

By the sound of things, it appears that Elin is still almost as eaten up over it as he's been, when work hasn't demanded his undivided attention. Though the man's temper flares had scared them both, she must still regret not saying anything about his leaving until it'd been too late to make a difference.

"Let's face it, Matsu. If you don't do it, who will? Ryuzaki's sure not gonna. He chases the poor guy out and totally humiliates him, then gets a sleazy con-man and a chain-smoking burglar to take his place. Doesn't even mourn his absence. I don't know what that tells you, but to me, that speaks volumes."

As brash and in-your-face as she can be, Elin's pretty much the only one around here who has total faith in him without his having to earn it, these days. Drawn together through their mutual sense of helplessness and desire to make something more out of themselves than they currently are, they can speak freely to one another without worrying what the other will think.

"W-well, I'm sure he had his reasons for…testing us," he says hesitantly, mentally warding off the feeling of being watched. This isn't lip service, though; Ryuzaki doesn't really do almost anything without a reason. Whatever that reason may be. Sometimes he shares his intentions, sometimes he doesn't, and when he does, the group would sometimes be left with the vague feeling that he hadn't told them the complete truth. As a total enigma in himself, one can do little more than speculate with Ryuzaki. And that only gets so far.

She snorts out her own speculation: "Yeah. He did it 'cause he knows he can do it and get away with it. I mean, honestly, Matsu, he didn't have to do that. He wasn't even sleeping here."

As much as he seeks his approval, even he can't deny that his superior's ways are questionable, to say the least. He has done things that he hasn't agreed with (accuse Light of being Kira, call him an idiot right in front of him for everyone to hear, etc.). But he doesn't like to think that Ryuzaki is that cruel. Surely, there'd been more to it than simply "because he could do it?"

Still, as much of a bully Aizawa was to him ("bully," what a word for a grown man to use), even he hadn't deserved to get treated like that, not really. Matsuda could've sworn the older man had been about to cry when Watari had come in to drop the ball. That had been pretty unsettling.

"I'm sure there was more to it than that."

Elin knows him. He won't say anything remotely mean about Ryuzaki, whether he's watching them or not. It's not in his nature. Plus, he still works under him. He's in charge of his salary, as far as he's concerned. So, since she doesn't work with them and her say doesn't count either way, she does it for him: "You could take all the damn reason he has, stuff it into a cockroach's belly-button, and you'd still have room for a number divided by zero, his sense of decency, and his heart."

…

"…I don't think cockroaches have belly-buttons. I don't think you can divide by zero, either."

"Exactly."

Elin can say some nasty things when she's mad. So far, Ryuzaki's the only one who seems to push her buttons; they've been hissing at each other since he'd first brought her into custody (or to be more accurate, she's been hissing at him, while he brushes her aside; the only one he'll openly hiss at is Light, and those episodes can get quite violent). Even so, he wonders if she actually means half of the things she says when angry beyond the moment she's said it. She does it that often.

(Which makes it all the more embarrassing when she stands up to Ryuzaki for him, but he could never tell her this; he doesn't have the heart to, or the nerve.)

She takes a deep breath before clapping a hand on his shoulder, tilting him in her direction as the buddy he is to her. "Listen, let's forget that heel, for a while. Right now, Aizawa is who we're worried about. He felt like a loser when he left us, I saw it on his face, and we just can't stand for that. To be honest, you and I both know the best about how that feels, so we should apologize to him, on behalf of the task force. I'd go with you, but I'm on a leash. Besides, you know him better. You've worked together."

That much, he can't deny. And he can't deny her request, skittish as he is about seeing his former co-worker again. Ask him to jump, and he'll ask, "How high?"

She grins at him, jiggling him a little. "That's the spirit! They treat you like a klutzy intern now. But just wait. You'll show them. And when you do, they'll call you a hero! You'll bring all of us rookies justice, and the women will sing your praises! Shucks, maybe they'll even ask you to do an encore! This, I prophesize."

The words of encouragement are overkill, at this point.

…

How long has it been since the man who would constantly belittle him stormed out of headquarters in an indignant rage? Two weeks? Three? Four? Matsuda has lost track.

The opportunity rears its head not much later, in the most convenient, if flawed, of circumstances: he spots his afro-sporting ex-superior heading down the street outside of the shop where Misa is currently absorbing her reflection in the fitting room as she tries on one Gothic outfit after another.

The catch: his family is with him. The people with whom Aizawa had hardly spent time since this case had begun. Just seeing them together makes Matsuda balk. It wouldn't be wise to just pop in to discuss matters with Aizawa while Eriko and little Yumi are within earshot, but more than that, he feels bad about the idea of intruding on their precious quality time. Not to mention, he can't leave Misa alone for very long. He has responsibilities of his own.

Would Aizawa even want to speak to him?

But I promised, he remembers with a groan. I promised I'd check in on him. And who knows when I'll get a chance like this again? 

This is what he gets for being physically unable to say no to anyone.

He shouts out a brief, hasty explanation of where he's going to Misa while she's still in the fitting room—"Hang tight, Misa-Misa, I gotta find an ATM to make a withdrawal!"—before zipping out the door. Normally, he'd wait to see if Misa had heard him, let alone approve. But not this time. Aizawa's afro is quickly vanishing into the crowd.

Not knowing how else to get his attention, he cries out his name when he isn't stuttering "sorry, excuse me, pardon me," to the people he weaves through before he catches up to the family. To say the least, the three of them look very surprised to see him.

He doubles over when he tries to bow in greeting, his hand darting for the back of his neck as he huffs out between breaths, "Good-morning, Aizawa, Eriko! H-how are you, Yumi? Gosh, you've gotten so big since I last saw you!"

Which hasn't been too often, these days.

Aizawa stares at him for an unbearably long time, his gaze suddenly narrowed. Not good. "It's 12:30 in the afternoon, Matsuda," are his first words to him since they'd made their separate ways. Somehow he's not surprised that he'd use his first words to correct him.

"Matsuda, what are you doing here?" asks Eriko, warily enough. "Is something wrong?" Matsuda is from work. To be running up to them like this from out of the blue, he must have something urgent to tell Aizawa. Something that will force him to cut his vacation short and disappear back into his job.

Yumi picks up on this right away, and squeezes her father's hand in her tiny ones, almost possessively. "Daddy, are you going to have to go back to work, now?" she asks. Even as a bachelor without a family of his own, the little girl's eyes, wide with confusion and worry, are enough to break his heart.

"Oh, no-no-no, he doesn't have to go back to work!" he insists, waving his hands around like signal flags. "I-I just, uhm, thought I should swing by and see how you all were doing. And, uh…"

Shoot. This is what he gets for not thinking of what to say ahead of time. Normally, he could think up of something at the drop of a hat, but oh, Yumi and Eriko's eyes! They're making it hard for him to come up with anything.

Around that time, Anika begins to fuss in her stroller, as she often does when it isn't in motion for too long. Aizawa, realizing that whatever Matsuda has to talk to him about cannot be mentioned in front of his wife and daughters, turns to Eriko and says, "You go on ahead. I'll catch up."

Eriko's eyes don't lose much of their wariness, but since Anika is fussing, she has no choice but to take Yumi's hand and guide the children away. In the meantime, Matsuda finds himself staring eye-to-eye with the man he used to chase Kira with, who doesn't seem too happy to see him.

"Well? What do you want?"

"What, me?" It's so…odd, to see Aizawa in a leather jacket and khakis, rather than his usual business suit. He looks too casual. For him, anyway.

"Yes. Obviously, you wanted something, or else you wouldn't have popped up from out of the blue, calling my name and scaring Yumi."

"Oh. Oh! Right. About that…first, let me say that I'm sorry I startled you guys. I hadn't meant to."

"No. You can't help it. It's in your nature."

…

Is he still licking his wounds, Matsuda wonders.

"Well, I don't mean to hold you up. I-I just wanted to say…about what happened at headquarters—"

"Don't waste your breath."

Oh, no. Maybe he is still angry about it? If there's one thing that hasn't changed about Aizawa, it would be that hard head of his.

The older man inhales. "If you went out of your way just to apologize on behalf of the task force, don't. I'm over it. Since I quit, I've been able to spend more time with my family, and…"

And hopefully, patch things up a little with Eriko, Matsuda wants to say, but can't. That might be pushing it.

Aizawa glances up towards the skyscrapers towering above them, as though trying to gather his thoughts. "As far as I'm concerned, he wound up doing me a favor. In his own twisted way."

A favor? Just weeks ago, Aizawa had proclaimed how much he hates Ryuzaki and everything he does. What does he mean? He doesn't go into detail, and Matsuda doesn't press him for them. Neither has the time. It makes him think about what Elin had said, about Ryuzaki basically lacking a heart.

Aizawa claps a hand over his shoulder, to Matsuda's mild amazement. But unlike with Elin, he doesn't tilt him in his direction, or any direction. "Look, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. You just do your job, at least try to stay out of trouble, and give the others my regards. If you're out with Miss Amane, it's really not a good idea for you to leave her alone, especially for my sake."

His lips curl into a somewhat bittersweet smile. "And don't count me out, just because I'm not officially working with you, anymore. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

With that, he turns and vanishes into the crowds to catch up with three of the most important people in his life, hands in his jacket pockets and gait just a little bit straighter. Matsuda can only stand there and watch him go, at a loss for words.

He wonders what Elin would think of this when he tells her what Aizawa had said? Would she even believe him?

He wonders, at least, until Misa calls him back to his own duties.


	21. No Smoking

Wedy wouldn't have minded "Elin" so much if she didn't constantly egg her about her smoking. It was subtle, at first—well, as subtle as the kid could be—such as bursting into obnoxious coughing fits whenever she saw Wedy light up, only to be shot down with a curt, "Need a lozenge?"

It is only a matter of time before she finally cuts to the chase: "Smoking's bad for you." Bratty millennial—

Wedy takes a long, defiant drag of the cigarette perched between her fingers. "I know. That's why I do it," she replies.

She pinches her nose in the meantime and grimaces. "But it stinks! You're gonna ruin your good looks—"

(Here she was, thinking that Aiber was the master of flattery.)

"—not to mention your chances of seeing fifty. I did research on this once; do you wanna hear the numbers? They're not good."

"Hm. Die young and leave a beautiful corpse, they say. Keep your statistics, thanks."

"Your corpse isn't gonna look 'beautiful' if you keep smoking," she snaps.

Wedy slides her a cool glance from behind her shades. "Look hon, I don't coach you on your lifestyle; why coach me on mine?" As she crosses her legs again, she adds, "If you need someone to nag, try Ryuzaki. On that diet of his, he's not gonna live to see thirty."

"Yeah, but he doesn't stink up the place," she grumbles as she peeks down at her sock-feet for a second: one of the few times she had ever stood up for "Ryuzaki" in any way. But just from the way she's looking at her feet, Wedy can tell that she's cracking in this argument.

When she looks up again, she says, "Can you at least take your cancer sticks outside? You don't have to live here, but I do. And I actually want to see fifty. At the bare minimum."

Not that it's her business, but sometimes Wedy wonders what she's doing here in the first place. She's not a suspect, not even an investigator. "Hn, you've just admitted something that not a lot of girls your age even care to think about. Applause, applause. But I should let you know," she smirks, "that I can smoke wherever, whenever I damn well want to."

"Elin's" fists clench at her sides. "All right, that's it. I tried to be nice about this, I really did. But now, sister, now you have forced my hand." She storms out of the room.

What's she going to do, complain to "Ryuzaki?" Ryuzaki lets her do what she pleases while she's here, as long as she does her job. They go way too far back for him to be influenced by some young girl.

…

In a way, Wedy wishes that she would've complained to him. Maybe then, she wouldn't have stayed up scribbling "No Smoking" signs on computer paper to copy and tape on pretty much every surface in the monitor room and beyond that would stick for everyone to find the next morning.

Then again, maybe that's why she'd resorted to this, in the first place?

She asks as she wipes her nose with a tired, lopsided smile. "You should know that you can't light up where there's a sign, right, Wedy? I'll take these down when you see the light. A-and I don't mean from your lighter."

Wedy doesn't know whether or not to laugh, especially upon seeing the determined glint in "Elin's" green eyes, which extinguishes when she collapses on the couch, too beat to go upstairs to her room to take her nap. This girl is going to go far.

She's has been taking her smokes outside, since then. And since then, the New Yorker has stopped egging her about her habit. Aiber steps out to join her shortly after that incident, asking, "So, what made you cave?"

Wedy, propped up against the wall, crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. "Kid was making a fool of herself; I thought it'd be the humane thing to do to spare her any more humiliation. Call it pity. But, at least she's not hacking around me anymore. That was getting annoying, to say the least."

He grins. "And they have the nerve to call us criminals."

Aiber is more of an alcohol man, but he is an occasional smoker, so she silently offers the con man a light, unable to recall ever feeling more grateful to be among her kind.


	22. Search

His steps quicken with every second that passes with no sign of her. How could he have lost her so easily? One minute he has his back turned, and the next, she's gone. Yumi always did have a strong wanderlust, but…

"Daddy, Daddy! Look! Come on! Let's go over here!" he'd heard her say as he stopped to inquire about a small pair of earrings that Eriko might like.

Her words not totally registering to him, he'd replied absentmindedly, "All right, Yumi. In a bit, just be patient."

Only when he'd gone to reach for his wallet did he realize that Yumi's warm tiny hand was no longer wrapped in his, and her pudgy little shape gone from his side. Yumi was clearly his daughter; she had his capacity for patience.

Eriko's going to kill me, he thinks, a pathetic attempt at a joke to comfort himself as the cop in him runs through a series of the worst case scenarios in his mind, the adrenaline rush forcing him to move faster. No no no, he mustn't think like this. Yumi's probably just run off into one of the toy or candy stores, looking for something for Anika's birthday. After all, that's what they'd come here to do, as well as to spend some quality time and give Eriko a break.

God, I hope she has enough sense to stay where she is until I find her…wherever she is. 

He doesn't have a choice. He's going to have to call security. He tries not to dwell too much on the irony of needing help from the mall cops when he himself is a cop who's worked on cases involving missing people as he approaches the directory.

"Yes sir, how can I help you?" asks the lady minding the counter between snaps of her gum, her shadowed eyes glazed with the two o'clock daze of midday as her fingers drum against the desk.

"H-hello, I'm looking for my daughter Yumi. She's run off and I need help finding her," he presses, trying to keep his emotions leveled. It would do no one any good to panic.

"Yes, sir. Can I have a description of her?"

"She's six years old, about a meter tall, she's wearing a pink jumper with a plain white shirt, and a pair of purple tennis shoes. Her hair is short and brown, and her eyes are dark brown."

She's the spitting image of her mother…

The receptionist takes note of all of this on a pad, nodding absentmindedly as she continues to chew. Each snap and pop pierces his mind like the tick of the clock over their heads for every second he doesn't know where Yumi is. "Mm-hm. Okay. I'll call security right now and issue an alert."

He is about to thank her when a voice calls out to him. A very loud and familiar voice. Two of them, actually. "Aizawa, Aizawa! There you are!"

"Yo, Aizawa!"

He turns. Well, what are the odds? "Matsuda?"

…

The gang had been fooling around at the rink, just coming back for a break after couples' skate had ended. Light and Misa had practically stolen the show, though not for reasons that Misa would've liked. With their fingers laced around each other, they might've been the most lovey-dovey couple out there had it not been for Ryuzaki dragging on them as he crouched down towards the floor and had Light pull him along, holding on with both hands to the chain that bound them together. Oh yes, that earned them a few bemused looks from bystanders and got many more to move out of the way.

Behind them, Erin and Matsuda skated arm-in-arm as they sang along to the song blasting overhead, almost tripping over themselves as their bodies shook, their faces flushed with laughter.

Right when the song ended, Ryuzaki abruptly announced, "I'm thirsty." He used his weight on the chain to swerve to the edge and plant his rear on the curb, the sudden jerk yanking Light away from Misa and leaving her spinning out of control while Light found himself flat on his back. Luckily, Matsuda managed to break away and catch the girl in the nick of time, though he did leave Erin floundering around on her skates for a few seconds while someone else caught her by the wrist.

"What the hell, Ryuzaki! You could've caused an accident. Give us a warning next time, will you?" Light snapped, working on getting himself back on his feet before shuffling his way to the edge next to his compatriot. He rubbed his sore back.

"I did issue a warning," said Ryuzaki as he let Erin go. "I said I was thirsty."

"You dummy, that's not a warning!" chided Misa as Matsuda guided her out of the rink to join the rest.

"Hey, no problem, guys! Drinks are on me!" Erin volunteered, taking off her skates to leave her in her sock feet. "You know what you guys want?"

"Anything as long as it's diet!" said Misa, taking her seat beside Light.

"Oh, I'm not picky. You can get me anything," cheered Matsuda. "Hey Light, are you okay? That looked like it hurt. You need an ice pack or anything?"

"No, no, I'll be okay, don't worry about it. I'll just have bottled water if they have it," said Light.

"I would like coffee or tea, but failing that, I will accept anything as long as it's sweet," said Ryuzaki. That he had not apologized for making Light fall was not lost on Erin.

She saluted them all regardless. "Gotcha!" As she trotted off to the snack bar, Matsuda looked around, not for any particular reason, but when his eyes landed at the entrance of the rink, he spotted a little girl in a pink jumper with her tiny hands cupped around her mouth.

"Daddy? Daddy, where are you?" She wasn't crying like some children would when they were lost, but the way her little voice carried out certainly had a twinge of worry in it. Either way, Matsuda recognized her almost instantly.

Yumi? What was she doing here? She must be visiting the mall with her dad, but where was Aizawa at this moment? Instinct prompted him onto his feet, making him temporarily forget that he still had his skates on until he found himself having to cling to the railing for support.

"What's the matter, Matsuda?" asked Light.

"H-hang on, I see a little girl over by the entrance. I think it's Aizawa's kid," grunted Matsuda as he tried to regain his balance. "But I don't see Aizawa with her. I'm gonna go check it out."

"Ooh, ooh! Bring her over here!" Misa suggested, flicking her wrists with excitement. "Misa's never gotten to meet Monchichi's kids before! Ohhh, is that her in the jumper? She's so precious!"

Just before Yumi gave up and started to look elsewhere, Matsuda glided to her, grabbing onto a support beam to brake. "Hi, Yumi! What's up?"

Recognizing him, Yumi waved and flashed a charming smile, revealing a gap in it where a bottom tooth used to be. "Oh! Hi, Mr. Matsuda! Have you seen my daddy? He ran off. I told him to stay put so I could go look for a present for Anika and when I came back to ask for money he was gone. I've been looking all over for him."

Matsuda laughed, wondering to himself if it wasn't the other way around, or perhaps a mutual misunderstanding. She was certainly taking this better than he imagined Aizawa to be taking it at the moment…

Nonetheless, she really shouldn't be wandering around the mall by herself. "Well Yumi, I haven't seen him, but I can help you find him."

"That would be great, Mr. Matsuda! Thank you so much!" Matsuda couldn't help but blush. Sometimes a "thank-you" was all he needed to make his day. When they were still working together, Aizawa didn't tell him that very often. Most people didn't.

Around this time, the rest of the gang joined them around the entrance. Light and Ryuzaki had taken off their skates while Misa kept hers on. "Oh, is this Yumi? Hi, I'm Misa-Misa! Nice to meet you!" The idol bent down to take Yumi's hand and shake it.

Yumi tilted her head and blinked. "Hi, Misa-Misa! Hm. Are you the lady that shows up on the cover of the magazines at the supermarket? You look kinda like that lady." In the eyes of a child, everyone was equal.

Misa clapped her hands. "Why yes, that's Misa on those magazines! Wow, Monchichi's daughter is so smart, and cute! So what brings you here, Yumi? How come you're not with your daddy?" Behind her, Light rolled his eyes, a ghost of what could be construed as a smile teasing at his lips.

"Monchichi? That's not my daddy's name. Mommy calls him Shuichi. Sometimes she calls him Honey, too. Mostly I just know him as Daddy," the little girl says with a shrug. "I was looking for a present for my sister for her birthday, and then Daddy ran off. I'm looking for him since he has all the money."

"Well, don't you worry your sweet little head. We'll help you find him. In the meantime, maybe Misa can help find a good present for your sister? Misa is an expert at present-giving. What does she like?"

Yumi rocked a bit on her heels in thought. "I'm not really sure. Anika's turning one and she doesn't talk very much because she's still learning. Mostly she just crawls around and moos like a cow."

"Awww! A baby, huh? Misa has just the thing to get her for her first birthday! Light darling, will you watch Yumi until Misa comes back? Misa will be quick!"

"Erm, okay, Misa." They'd have to stay with the girl anyway, at least until they found Aizawa.

Misa had enough sense to turn in her skates at the counter to get her boots back. She stops only to take her can of soda out of Erin's hand on her way out with a brisk, "Thanks a lot, BRB!"

"Uh…you're welcome," she answers out of her earshot. "Hey, what'd I miss?"

"Elin, this is Yumi. She and her dad got separated, so we're going to help find him."

Her face breaks out into a grin as she tilts her hat out of her face with her wrist, her fingers occupied with balancing three cans of soda and a water bottle. "Well hello there. Don't worry, these boys here are detectives; they're good at tracking people down."

"Just like my daddy."

"Like your dad, huh?" she parroted, not knowing then the meaning of those words.

A mischievous smirk crossed her lips, and she whispered, "Hey. You wanna see something funny? Check this out. Ssssh." She stood up straight and tall and started to pass out the drinks save for one can of soda for herself.

Ryuzaki examined the can from top to bottom as he held it pinched between his fingers, his expression blank and owlish. "I am quite certain that they were serving coffee."

"Tried it. It sucks. You wouldn't like it, no matter how much sugar you dumped into it. The soda's a lot better. Cheers!" With a crack of her fingers, she opened her can of soda and took a healthy swig.

Ryuzaki though kept picking at the tin loop, unable to lift it. "This is one of the reasons why I do not care for canned soft drinks; I can never seem to open the can."

Erin threw her arms into the air in mock despair. "Lord help us all! Ryuzaki here's found something he actually can't do!"

Light screwed the cap back on his water after taking a swallow and scoffed. "Well, that's no surprise coming from someone who's chewed his fingernails down to the bone. Here, I'll get that."

"L-Light, wait—"

Ksssssssssh! 

In one second the entire front of Light's once immaculate white shirt dripped and dribbled with 255 milliliters of sticky Dr. Pepper™ (roughly estimated). He tried not to look as upset as he really was—how he hated getting his clothes dirty—though Yumi's giggling did nothing to help the situation. Light's fingers twitched with restrained fury as Ryuzaki took back the can and took a sip.

"She's right. That was rather amusing," he deadpanned, his tone suggesting the opposite of his words. His nose twitched very slightly when he pulled the can away from his lips. "Another thing I don't care for about soft drinks is that they bother my nose. The carbonation makes it tingle." He took another slurp, anyway, treating the beverage like he would a cell phone. Cumbersome, but necessary. It was still very sweet, after all.

"Uh…heh-heh. Okay, I think I'm gonna go get some napkins," Erin offered, hastily making a 180 back to the snack bar.

…

"Hmm…well, that explains why you're not wearing shoes," Aizawa grunts, gesturing to Matsuda's wiggling black sock-clad toes.

Matsuda himself looks down at them, afraid to look up again when he feels his face turning red. "Oh. So I'm not. I must've forgot them. Anyway, let's skedaddle on back to the rink now—"

Suddenly, Aizawa's phone rings. Who could be calling him now? His caller ID reads—

Light? 

"Er, excuse me, I'd better take this." Click. "Hello?"

"Daddy?" 

The sound of her sweet voice on the line almost jolts him off balance. Oh thank God, she's okay! Or so she sounds. "Yumi?"

"Hi, Daddy!" There's a bemused pause on his little girl's end, and he could've sworn he'd heard her say, "Hey, mister. How'd you know my daddy's number?"

He strains his ears and hears a third-party reply along the lines of, "An educated guess." 

…

That voice. He can recognize that maddening monotone anywhere.

Oh no. Not him. Of all times and places…

It's been a while since their falling-out that had ended with Aizawa leaving the task force. While his anger on the whole thing had cooled since then, and he doesn't feel bile rising out of his throat at the thought of him, he isn't sure if he's ready to face his former "boss" again; indeed he had doubted that he ever would, at least any time soon.

But he doesn't have a choice. Yumi is with him. She's with the man who is the reason he finally came home and doesn't even know it.

Blogger looks stunned. He supposes that this is just as much a surprise to her that they would meet again in this way as it is to him. "Matsu, you didn't say that Yumi was Aizawa's kid," he hears her whisper, like something bad is about to happen. Probably another fight not unlike the last one.

"I didn't? Oh. Oops."

She facepalms. "Oh man. Talk about awkward…"

"Where have you been, Daddy? How come you ran off when you said you'd stay put?" 

I could ask you the same thing, he thinks with an internal sigh of relief and exasperation, but he doesn't. It doesn't matter now. What does is finding her. "I'm sorry Yumi, I guess I didn't listen. Do you know where you are now?"

"Uh-huh! We're at…um, Radio Hut!" 

"What are you doing there, sweetie? I thought you were at the roller rink—"

"Ah, Mr. Matsuda must've found you, already! Yeah, we were waiting there. But then one of his friends, Mr. Ryuzaki said he knew a place where I could get a present for Anika, so we're over at Radio Hut, now." 

What in the world? What is he up to?

Well, at least from the sound of things, Ryuzaki isn't making her cry or anything like that. That had racked at his nerves. If Ryuzaki could get close to reducing a grown man like him to tears through his mind games, there's no telling what he'll do to a little girl.

A part of him doesn't want to believe that he could be that vicious.

Plus, if that stubborn ass is there, Light is probably with him, too.

"Well…all right, Yumi. Just stay where you are, okay? We'll be right over."

"Okay! But please hurry, these presents we got are so cool. I love you, Daddy." 

…

No need to look all sentimental in front of Matsuda and Blogger. He turns away slightly before answering a bit softly, "I love you too, Yumi. I'm hurrying."

After waiting for Matsuda to retrieve his shoes, the walk over is relatively short, though the three find themselves needing to take the escalator up to the second floor where Radio Hut is located. On the way, Aizawa is bombarded by questions by the loud-mouthed American student like how is he doing and how's the clan. She's trying to make sure that he's more or less okay. While he does appreciate her concern, what matters to him most at the moment is Yumi.

You shouldn't even be here. If anyone should be home right now, it's you. But he has no authority over L's decisions, not now and probably not so much then, either. Ryuzaki had better be careful from here on. Losing Ukita had been too much; they don't need more innocent lives wasted on this case.

In the meantime, he'll do what he can on his part. No matter what, he'd never leave his two girls to grow up in a world where Kira's terror is law. He'd told Eriko this late one night when this had all begun. He hoped that she understood—as their mother, of course she would—but that hadn't stopped the investigation from putting their marriage in a vise. Things at home aren't at present as tense as before, but it lingers.

He clears his throat. "My youngest daughter Anika is having her first birthday this weekend."

"Aw, that's cute! Congratulations, man. Make sure you do it big! You only have a first birthday once." She slaps him on the back as they jump off the escalator, something he hadn't expected from her. Americans…

"Thank you." He might have missed out on Yumi's sixth birthday back in August, but he wouldn't miss Anika's very first birthday for the world. He doesn't need anyone to remind him of this.

Sure enough, he sees her outside the store with Light (with painfully conspicuous soda stains down the front of his shirt and khakis) and "Ryuzaki." She's smiling from ear to ear while fiddling with a chunk of red and black plastic, designed like a ladybug's shell. It looks like a cell phone.

It is a cell phone.

"Yumi!"

"Daddy!"

She runs to him with her arms outstretched, her shoes pitter-pattering across the marble tiles as she zigzags between a few passersby. He walks to her in kind, his steps aching but eager, bending at the knees so she can throw her arms around his neck and kiss his cheek when they meet. For the moment, it doesn't matter as much who's watching.

"You had me worried there, Yumi."

"Daddy, you worried me more. Don't ever run off on me again," says Yumi with a sternness that would normally be reserved for the other way around. She always has had a way of wrapping him around her little finger, even when she's gotten in trouble.

She's just like her mother.

"What's that you have there?"

Yumi holds out the phone to him, beaming. "Like it, Daddy? Mr. Ryuzaki let me pick it out."

"Sorry for making you chase us, Aizawa," Light said, bowing to him slightly. "I tried to stop them…"

"Better to have called beforehand than to have you go to the rink to find us absent," muttered Ryuzaki, his hands tucked in the pockets of those same baggy jeans he's always worn.

Of course he'd act like nothing happened. That's just how he is. Either he doesn't know the depths of how morally unsound he can be, or he simply doesn't care. The "world's greatest detective" can't be bothered with such trivial matters as right and wrong, so long as he gets the results that he's after.

"Mr. Ryuzaki showed me how to use a cell phone. Now whenever we get separated, I can call you. And look! I got one for Anika, too! One with cow spots on it. Do you think she'll like it, Dad?"

"Ryuzaki…Anika's one. She doesn't have much use for a cell phone, at the moment," he says finally, his mind racing with images of his two daughters as teenagers eating up all of their minutes and running up the bill.

Now be realistic, Shuichi. Who do they know at the moment that they would chat up for that long? Anika can barely form words, yet. 

"It's never too early to teach children about safety, Mr. Aizawa. You of all people would appreciate that. Of course, another thing you can do is handcuff your children to you whenever you go out so that you won't become separated to begin with. That's what Light and I do."

"I think the cell phone idea is better," grumbles Light. "It would teach them autonomy as well as safety."

"And I guess Aizawa's getting footed with the bill?" Blogger blurts, louder than she might've intended, having been, like Matsuda, hesitant before to say anything that could aggravate an already awkward situation.

"That's already been worked out," he replies, leaving it at that.

…

Aizawa is at a loss for words. Why would he do this? After what he did the last time they saw each other—

No.

There's no way he can accept this. Once again, he can feel that surge of anger course through his body like kerosene and ignite his every nerve, though not as strong as the last time. He thinks he can buy his forgiveness by paying for phones that his daughters won't even use? This after withholding financial aid for his entire family for the sake of testing his loyalties?

"Yumi? Can I see those?"

Oblivious to her father's inner torment, she hands over the devices without question. He tries to block out her surprised gasp when he marches over to Ryuzaki and holds them out for him to take back.

"I'm sorry, Ryuzaki. But I can't accept that. My daughters have no use for cell phones at the moment, and besides I'd rather be held accountable for my own debts. I thank you for the offer, though," he tells him as calmly as possible.

His former boss's poker face never drops for a second. "Ah, I see. Too soon? I understand."

I'm sure you do, smug son of a—

"Not many would turn down an offer to have something paid for them, but you never were one of the many. By the way, your daughter…is very clever. You've done a fine job raising her so far, all things considered."

A part of him sneers inside. Oh save it. What would you know about raising a family? Cases are more important to you than people. 

Another part of him is strangely not as bitter. He's not tickled by the compliment for sure, but at the same time…

"Wish baby Anika a happy birthday for us."

…

"Sure. At any rate, thank you guys for helping me find Yumi, but we'd best get going."

"Take care," Ryuzaki says quietly.

"Yes. You take care, yourself," he answers, not looking back at him. Oh, if he lets anymore people get needlessly hurt for this case—

"Huh? But Daddy, what about the phones?" Yumi demands as he takes her hand and leads her away from the group. Light and Erin are shaking their heads, while Matsuda has no idea what to say, though he does have an idea on why Aizawa's walking away from a free cell phone plan. Even when Ryuzaki attempts to be "nice," he still manages to piss people off.

"You're hopeless, Ryuzaki. Has anyone ever told you that?" he hears Light grunt.

"Phones come with plans, Yumi, and I don't have the money to pay for a plan for both you and Anika, right now." He bites back the strain in his voice as his throat tightens. "I'm sorry. We'll try to find something that's more within the budget."

"But Mr. Ryuzaki said he had the money. Why not let him pay for it?"

…

Yumi squeezes his thumb. "Did Mr. Ryuzaki make you mad? Is that why you said no? What'd he do, Dad? He's kinda weird and his face looks like a panda's, but he seems nice."

Aizawa wonders if she's not the only one confused by all this. The same man who had insulted him twice now is the reason he's even here to have this conversation with his daughter at the mall. Maybe he is hopeless?

Only question is, how hopeless?

"He…didn't do anything in particular. I just don't like people covering debts for me, especially ones that I don't need to have to begin with. Promise me when you grow up, Yumi, that you will always take responsibility for whatever you owe. And don't take up debts that you can't afford."

Yumi doesn't understand, but she nods. "Okay, Daddy."

He almost jumps when someone squeals to him, "Monchichi! There you are! Misa's been looking all over for you. Look at what Misa picked out for baby Anika! She'll look so cute in this."

"Huh? Oh. Hello, Miss Amane." Again with leaving her alone, Matsuda? 

He only stops one more time for Misa to offer her gift: a pair of plush footie pajamas designed like a Holstein cow, complete with little horns, a tail and a little cowbell around the neck. "Yumi told me that Anika liked cows, so Misa got this for her."

He works up a smile out of courtesy. He's too tired to feel annoyed. Ryuzaki had already helped himself to most of his capacity for annoyance for today.


	23. Idiots

"Matsui?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you—nah, I don't think I should make you do that…"

"What is it, Elin? If you need something, I can readily fetch it for you." 

"No. Really. It's…it's nothin'. It's too stupid…"

"Come on, Elin, what do you need? I'm sure it's anything but."

"See, I…back at home, when we were kids, and I got sick like I am now, my brother used to sit in bed with me, and we'd read together. And kind of…cuddle, a little."

"Y-you guys cuddled?"

Cough, cough. "Uh-huh. It was one of those rare moments when we actually acted like siblings." 

"You want me to do the same thing, don't you?" 

"Well, uh, not really, I—yeah. Yeah, that's kind of where I was getting at. Yeah. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Elin. If it'll help you feel better, then I'll do it."

"But…what about my flu? Aren't you worried about catching it?"

"Ha-ha! I'm wearing a mask and gloves, aren't I?"

"Thank you, Matsui. You wanna see the funnies, first?"

"The what?"

"You know, the funnies? That's New York slang for the comics." 

"Ah. Over here, we have manga!" 

She's in bed with another man, their arms wrapped around each other as they hold up the comics together (not high enough). His smile is so big that his mask can't even hide it. Her head is on his shoulder. When she isn't sputtering into a coughing fit, she's laughing that hearty, nasally laugh of hers. Laughing with him. Laughing about nothing.

Matsuda and Erin. Erin and Matsuda. Something about it is vaguely sickening to him, and he's seen more than his share of sickening things in his life. He's seen far worse than this. Why should this even leave a scratch? Why should this make him stop stirring the sugar into his coffee to give it the time of day?

After all, he's the one that sent Matsuda up there, to begin with. Like a handheld video game to keep her occupied, so she doesn't get out of bed to interfere with work again. That'd been his intention ever since he'd arranged their trips to school and back.

They're not attached to each other in any way that's inappropriate. He's just doing what I intended him to. 

Touta Matsuda is actually doing his job well, for once.

(A little too well. Is that even possible?)

Wishing is useless, he knows this, especially when it comes to the past. But something in him briefly wishes that idiot hadn't deviated from their plans and tried to infiltrate the Yotsuba Group's office on his own. Not only could he have jeopardized the investigation, not only could he have gotten himself or any of them killed, but if he hadn't had to fake his death to escape the actual thing, he'd probably be the one accompanying Misa to the interview instead of Mogi.

"Don't worry, Matsui. The way I see it, if you were still her manager, we wouldn't get to be sitting here, right now, chewing the fat."

He wouldn't be here, soaking up all of her attention.

But isn't that what he was supposed to do?

"Mm-mm, my compliments to Watari. And…Ryuzaki, I guess. And you too, Matsu." 

That's her expressed gratitude for providing everything he can to make her comfortable. In passing. And it's hesitant, like she either doesn't think he deserves gratitude or is completely blindsided by his involvement in her recovery. When Matsuda was rescued, she'd slobbered all over him, mascara and rouge trickling down her face as she turned around to blame him for Matsuda's screw-up. No thank-you for helping Matsuda out of that mess when he could've very well left him at the Group's mercy.

And naturally, when Matsuda the loose-lip told her that the cake was from him, she'd had no answer. Had he given it to her himself, she'd have probably slammed the door on his face without a word.

Not that I've ever cared that much for gratitude. 

It hasn't been something he'd gotten plenty of, no matter how many cases he's solved; a gratuity, if nothing else. And it isn't as though he'd saved Matsuda just to impress her. Still, had he died, Yotsuba's guilt would be confirmed, but she would be so unhappy, this he could not deny. She'd never forgive him, not without Matsuda to act as a proxy.

Actually, it's doubtful that anyone in the task force would have forgiven him for abandoning Matsuda. Chasing Aizawa away was one thing, but abandoning Matsuda? He might be an idiot, but he's still one of the team. The "family."

When they call themselves a team, do they include him?

Technically yes, he would be included. They're all working together towards a common cause with himself up front as the leader. At this point, that's all that matters.

Matsuda makes her happy. He makes her cry. Matsuda is like a best friend or brother. He means little more to her than a bully with a superiority complex, a relentless thirst for games, and as much reason and empathy as a cockroach possesses.

…

He can't say that this is completely untrue. The part about having as much reason as an insect is untrue. Everything else? Not so much. She did ask him once to "chew the fat" with her, using her words. He'd brushed her off. She'd needed sleep, and he'd had work to do. It would've been…too distracting, for them both.

As far as he's concerned, she's the one without reason. Challenging him day in and day out without actually sitting down to consider the logic behind his actions, especially when she'll lose anyway. Defending Matsuda while she thinks she can belittle him with no problem. Denying everything Misa tries to bring to her attention (which is so ironic, it's almost laughable).

Idiot. You're an idiot, Erin Blogger. And so is Matsuda. You practically deserve each other. 

He wants to turn off the monitor, or at least mute it. Out of sight, out of mind. But he doesn't. Light is sitting on his left flank, and Mr. Yagami is studying files on the couch not much farther than that. L never turns off a monitor, for any reason. If he does, both will get suspicious. No one would benefit in the least if anyone should catch on that he's developing something that he's trying to wave away. Something that makes him burst into these random, quiet spells of irrational bitterness.

Even Misa isn't benefiting; she's only trying to bring it to Blogger's attention in hopes of using her to distract him from her quality time with Light. He's safe, as long as Blogger continues to dismiss her claims. The more he pushes her away, the more she does the same.

He has a case to attend to. Misa and Mogi should be back from the interview soon. Yes. Work and coffee will set him straight.

He slurps his coffee a bit louder than usual, focusing on the boiling black sensation scalding his throat raw. Though this does earn an agitated glance from Light, no one finds it odd, otherwise.

…

Despite his telling her to stay in bed, she'd stumbled downstairs anyhow with Matsuda helping her all the way, to see how the mission had gone. Is he going to help her back up into bed? Likely, since he'd helped her down. He pinches the handle of his coffee cup almost to the breaking point at this possibility. He tells her that he may restrain her if she keeps acting out, knowing that this would make her flinch. It does.

"Whoa, cool your jets, tiger! I just came out here to see if the guys were back. As soon as I see 'em, I'll march right back upstairs."

It's strange, how Misa appears so willing to accept Light's decision to abort the plan, as she had been so fired up about it. Apart from her trademark pout, she doesn't put up much more resistance than that (though she does stop to ask Light to sleep with her on her way out, giggling at Light's somewhat evasive reaction).

Thankfully, when all is said and done, Erin sniffs that it's all right, she can get back to her room alone. Wishing everyone good-night, she boards the elevator with Misa. She can't protect Matsuda, now.

(How embarrassing it must be, to be so meek that a younger woman feels compelled to stand up to your superior for you).

Matsuda approaches him and Light shortly afterwards and bows. "Elin says thank you for the soup," he says as helpfully as he can, like he didn't already know this. "It helped her a lot."

"That was the intention. Anyhow, I have another assignment for you."

The rookie detective's eyes seem to light up. "R-really? What do you need, Ryuzaki?"

"Mogi appears to be overworked, with his new job as Misa's manager. He accidentally shredded a stack of documents that are vital to this case. I need you to sort through the shreds of paper and tape all of them back together."

The light in Matsuda's eyes dims, but shimmers again, like he's just been asked to do a jigsaw puzzle. "Huh? Oh…wow. Poor Mogi. Don't worry; I'm on it!"

It's not unusual for him to assign tasks like this. He's had Wedy do the same thing for the documents extracted from the Yotsuba Group's weekly meetings. It's who he's asked to do it that piques Light's curiosity. "Are you sure you want Matsuda to do it? That could take him all night, and he might end up wrapping himself in tape," he says when Matsuda is out of earshot.

His fingers dig into his knees as he hugs them close to his chest, effectively barring back his true feelings from the open. He's already coming up with his follow-up, should Matsuda come back successful, his hands sticky and torn up with paper cuts.

That's partly the point. 'Good work, Matsuda. However, Mogi has just informed me that he's made a mistake. He never actually shredded the documents I needed. He misplaced them and then assumed he'd shredded them. I'm afraid I have no use for these. Please make sure they are shredded immediately.' Matsuda, you idiot. 

"It's only a stack of ten, maybe twelve documents. I think he can handle that much," he says nonchalantly, pouring himself another cup.

He's punishing him for a job that he'd asked him to do. If there's any sense in this, he has yet to come up with it.

…

Around that time, he can see her on the monitor, kicking the sheets off of the bed, stumbling out towards the bathroom in what appear to be the throes of high fever.


	24. God

It's strange. When he didn't have the Death Note he couldn't remember a second of anything he did with it. But now, even with the power back in his hands, he could still remember everything from when he had forgotten: what he saw, what he thought, what he felt. The contrast was still so sharp in his mind; he astonished even himself, at times.

Without the Death Note, the world didn't look as flawed. It wasn't perfect, of course, oh no, never perfect, but…somehow, it looked manageable. Not as good as it could be tomorrow, but better than it was yesterday. Like there was hope for it. Like Matsuda wasn't as stupid as everyone made him out to be (if impulsive and silly), like Ryuzaki and company had at least a strain of goodness in them for all of their bad points, like he really deep down was fond of Misa even if he wouldn't call it being "head-over-heels in love" with her.

The Death Note was like a pair of glasses. When he got it back in his hands, the world became clearer in an instant. The revelation crashed over him like a cold wave along with his memories, for the second time. And when he pulled up to the surface for air, suddenly he could see every crack, every smear, every mismatch, every patch of mold, every pimple and wart, every speck of crust lining every eye still blind to the truth.

Light almost wanted to throw up. How could he have been so ignorant, not once but twice?

There was no redeeming this world. Maybe at one time, but that time had come and gone, the opportunity slipped out of humanity's hands. All they had were remnants of a golden age gone by, like the ruins of a once majestic temple or sacred academy. Or had there ever been a real golden age at all? Humans were so profoundly flawed, the closest they could get were ephemeral scratches.

They could've gotten closer if they weren't so content in their ignorance and rottenness, like pigs wallowing in the muck and filth.

What good were ruins except to be cleared away to make something new, something better, something lasting? And who else had the wisdom and power to do this except him? This wasn't just a quest for the world at large (though it was, first and foremost), but also a personal quest to shed the chains of his humanity and ascend to godhood. With a god to guide them, people may finally reach the enlightenment they so desperately needed.

But they could not become godly. No. There could only be one god. That destiny was his to claim and his alone. The Death Note had reawakened him and made him realize his true nature, something that he would tentatively play with in his mind now and then when he had lacked his memories but due to his "ignorance" would not accept, never mind speak of it to anyone else. Higuchi had been a lowly servant at best. All the killing he'd done with his notebook, it had all been by his hand.

He looks in the mirror and finds shadows under his sunken eyes, green crust forming along his lids. His hair looks mangy, his complexion more pallid than he recalled. A faint body odor lingers on his skin, after-effects from the adrenaline rush that had characterized the past few days. It seems that spending all this time with "Ryuzaki" and company has taken a toll on him. This will not do. The handcuffs were removed last night from Ryuzaki's side; it's time that he did the same. Nothing that a good shower can't fix. He spends more time under the cleansing hot blast of water than he normally would, luxuriating in his newfound freedom, and the victory brimming just over the horizon along with the morning sun.

What a beautiful day. Misa is moving out today, now that he's cleared both their names. Of course he'll help, as a gentleman would, even if it is beneath him.

"Oh Light! Be sure to call and text me every day, okay?" Misa begs him as she pounces on him. Somehow her perfume smells stronger, nauseatingly so. Her voice is shriller, almost piercing. Light didn't notice these things nearly as much when he was "innocent." He can see a small smudge of lipstick on the corner of her lips as she moves in to claim his lips. She's unworthy, but he lets her have them. Soon Misa will get her powers back, and he figures he can indulge her a bit before sending her off to her task, from god to disciple. Yes, disciple. She could never be his goddess. She is inferior, too horribly flawed, pretty and popular as she is, even if she was a small cut above most in that she was aware how rotten this world really was. Or at least, she would regain that knowledge once she found her Death Note in the woods.

The cameras shouldn't be able to catch his words or the movement of his lips. He holds her close as he whispers his instructions to her, telling her only enough that she would understand without her memories. She can be attentive when she feels like it. As he does, he can see a few split ends hidden in her blond pigtails, but he doesn't tell her this. He appreciates that she doesn't seek to be his equal. She just wants his love. Poor love-starved girl. A god can't help but take some pity on her.

As he watches her bounce away, he wonders how Ryuk is doing, whether he's been watching everything from the shinigami realm. If things work out as he planned them (which they will), Ryuk will be trailing behind Misa, the next time she comes to visit. He figured that he could indulge him a bit as well for his part in all this. He had told Misa to take an apple with her into the woods, trusting that she would understand what for when she retrieved the notebook.

I doubt that after all this time, she'll still be able to remember his name. She'll likely make the Eye Deal again, with Ryuk, this time. Either way, I can only benefit.

Where affection used to lie, contempt and an odd sense of pity remain for these people. He supposes that it's typical for a god to feel this way when he's surrounded by lesser beings with no equals to be found. The members of the task force all look like caricatures from out of a simpering manga to him now. How can they be so clueless? He ought not to complain, it works to his advantage, but still, how it irritates him!

It's all falling into place so well, he can't help but shake his head, beginning to miss the challenge from days gone by. What's wrong, L? Have you lost your edge?

Yes. L has got to be the closest he's found in his whole life to an equal in anything, despite being human, despite being an audacious heretic. For the briefest of moments, he feels a twinge of pity for having to kill his opponent. Their partnership was impressive while it'd lasted. Why, Light would almost (almost) go so far as to say that perhaps in another time, another place, another life, they could've been real partners.

But it wasn't meant to be. L had many chances to see things from his point of view, the right point of view, and he had refused. This wasn't about justice. This was all a game to him. He could sweet-talk the task force into believing otherwise, but Light knew better. L was prepared to throw each of them under the bus at the drop of a hat, with the same effort it took to throw away a pawn. May his death be a humiliating and just one.

There is no middle way. Light would not take prisoners. Those who wouldn't see the righteousness of the path he was steering the world towards would just have to be swept aside, no matter how clever or cunning they are.

Light would not grieve. Outwardly he would to appease the outside world, but not in his heart. A god doesn't grieve. There is nothing for him to grieve.

"Uh, yeah, hey Light! Would it kill you to have your phone on a little more often? Listen, call me back as soon as you can. I know you're not normally into this sort of thing, but Aito Tsuka's coming to town and I got tickets for us to see her! You, me and you-know-who, that's right, I still haven't told anyone! Aren't you proud? Anyhow, maybe we can all go together or something? You know where to reach me! Love ya, big brother!"

Innocent Sayu, just asking to see her big brother again. When was the last time they spent time together, doing anything? Seems like just yesterday afternoon she was barging into his room asking for help on her math homework.

Of course. Even as a god, he understands that he must maintain his human façade, at least for a while longer. A god is too brilliant to be gazed upon by weak human eyes, no matter how eager or adoring. His glory could set them ablaze.

"Light, it's Mom. I'm just calling to ask how you're doing; you haven't called in a while and I'm a little worried about you. I do hope things are well. If you're available, maybe you can come home for dinner?" His mother's voice sounds tired and stilted, the way people sound when they sense that their loved ones are drifting away from them, for better or worse, and they don't know what to do about it.

She's probably been leaving messages like this one for Dad, too. Dad looks older than he did when the case began. He too looks tired, a man torn apart by the powerful wills on either side of him. If Light could change things, he would have never gotten involved. But it is what it is. He didn't know it yet, but Soichiro Yagami was the father of a god. The god of justice. Light can do everything that Soichiro could never do due to his mortal limitations.

Aren't there stories of gods who overthrew their fathers? No. He could never do that to his own father. He was only a threat because L had forced him to be. He had suffered enough. He'll see to it that he doesn't suffer anymore. Even gods can be merciful to those who deserved it.

A less striking revelation, but one all the same, comes over him then. If he was going to be god of the new world, he'd have to cut off his ties with everyone. Even Mom and Dad. Even Sayu. Not physically, not right away, but emotionally. He could love people enough to save them, but no more than that. A god couldn't afford attachment to finite things as mortal beings. Even if they were his family.

I'm sorry. But it's for your own good, he thinks as he erases their messages off his phone. He'd heard about Aito Tsuka from Misa, who isn't terrifically fond of her. The concert's a ways off, so it isn't like he has to respond right away. Still, he should at least call them both later. Tonight, perhaps, after dinner? That's what a good son and brother would do.

A home-cooked dinner and concert would be a lovely way to commemorate his victory.

About the time he turns off his phone and enters the hallway, he finds "Elin" out here. She's banging her forehead against the wall like a drinking bird, mumbling to herself and looking, unsurprisingly, frustrated.

"Boy oh boy, that Rem sure is a tough nut to crack," he hears her say between beats. "And so's Ryuzaki, for that matter."

Rem? Was she trying to ask Rem a few questions of her own while he had been outside with Misa? Given her current flustered appearance, Rem's answers must not have been satisfactory. That's good. But then, Elin was always quite blunt.

Tsk, tsk. Loose lips sink ships.

"So are you, by the looks of it. Elin, why are you banging your head against the wall?"

"Huh? Oh! Hey, Light!" She stops immediately, suddenly looking dizzy as she touches the red spot in the center of her brow. "What didja say?"

He suppresses a cringe. He always did find her a little babyish and obnoxious at times though not intolerably so. But ever since he found the Death Note again, he's started to notice how loud, how nasally and annoying she really sounds. At least Misa can speak their language. As much as he doesn't like to repeat himself, he reiterates, "I said, why are you banging your head against the wall? That can't be good for you."

She puts her glasses back on her face, leaving them crooked and sliding down her nose. "Uh, stress relief. Besides, better mine than someone else's, right? Hey, since you're here, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Oh great. What does she want now? It'd taken him more effort to get her back inside compared to everyone else, what with Aizawa occupied with pulling a lamenting Matsuda back indoors by his suit. Apparently she wanted to milk her last moments with Misa as much as she could, since they were friends and all.

She takes a breath. "Look. I know that you're mad at Ryuzaki on account of all the crap he put you and Misa up to for the past, meh, coupla months."

She has no iota of an idea.

"I'd be pretty pissed off too, if it were me…"

Will you please stop swearing? Is that the only way you know how to communicate? And you wonder why no one takes you seriously…

"But, do you think you can, I dunno, go in there and cheer him up? I just tried to. Couldn't even crack a smirk out of him. I don't know what's gonna happen from here, but we ain't going anywhere if he drags everyone down with that sourpuss mood of his, like last time. I mean, he let you out of the cuffs, finally. That's a step in the right direction, right?"

"I suppose that's true."

When she gets mad at Ryuzaki, no one can tell her differently. But if someone else is angry, she has a problem with it. She's almost as fickle as Misa.

She does have a small point. There is no use for anger. There is nothing to be angry about. Light has all but won. All he needs to do now is wait for the perfect moment to deliver the final blow. He'll put Ryuzaki out of his misery soon.

"Yeah. Don't worry. I'll shake some sense in him. I've done it before. Someone has to." That's what a good friend would do.

Elin smiles. Light notes the yellow tinge to her teeth that everyone seems to be developing, from all the caffeine and sugar and insomnia, no doubt. She needs a better toothpaste brand. Such a naïve, trusting smile. How could she be so foolish, after what L's done to her? It's probably Stockholm syndrome sinking in. What could be worse? He'll save her soon.

Then her face falls. "Hey, Light?"

"Yeah?"

"I-if that rule, the thirteen-day thing is true…do you think that means that whoever Kira and the Second Kira were are…you know….?"

He knows what she's trying to say. "Dead?" He closes his eyes, appearing to look thoughtful. "That's a good possibility," he answers, as gently as is appropriate. For someone with such a foul mouth, Elin turns green around the gills very easily.

Her voice gets smaller. "So, is there any point to carrying this case on?"

"Well Elin, even if Kira and the Second Kira are dead, we only have one of the notebooks. Two Kiras would mean that at least two notebooks are involved in this. We need to at least find the other notebook before someone else takes up using it."

"Hm. Yeah, I think I get that. I just…"

She stops to rub at her arms, as though she's cold. "I just wish that the killings would stop."

"I know. We all do."

"That doesn't mean that the Kiras should've died, though. Shit, I don't even think Higuchi deserved to die, not really, even if he was a scuzz-monkey."

Somehow it's getting harder for him to keep pretending that he understands. So naïve. It's like talking to a five-year-old. "I know how you feel, but just remember that they had to have known that that rule was in place before they used it. They chose to kill, Elin. It stands to reason that that sort of power comes at a price."

Erin huffs, "Yeah, yeah, I would figure that. I just—that doesn't change the fact that I don't think they should die! What would make somebody go and do that, anyway…ugh. I'm getting a headache. I've been giving myself a lotta headaches lately, it seems."

He can see tears polishing her green eyes like glass before she furiously blinks them away. She sure does cry a lot. How he hates that. She has no reason to cry.

Light chuckles with just enough light-heartedness. "Are you sure that's not because you've been trying to bash holes in the wall with your head? There are better ways to cope with stress, you know."

She stops to massage her temples. "I dunno, maybe. I guess for now I should be happy that at least you guys aren't suspects, anymore. Maybe things'll be better between you and Ryuzaki, once he gets his butt back in gear, that is. Good luck getting anything outta old Rem, though. You thought I was clueless? Try her on for size."

He bites back a smirk. She still thinks that they're friends. Maybe for the briefest of moments, they came close, but that's come and gone.

Suddenly she reaches over to slap him on the back, a boisterous gesture of affection that knocks him off-kilter for a second, though he quickly finds his balance again. How dare she? "Just be really careful, Light. Okay?"

"Of course. You don't have to tell me twice. If anything, I should be telling you that."

Her laugh is crowing, and horribly awkward. The meaning of his words is no doubt lost on her. Little wonder why she gets along so well with Misa and Matsuda. "Hey, I left that picture frame I made you out by your computer. I hope you like it!"

That's right. She made him a gift. An offering. A paltry offering, but it's the thought that counts, as they say.

He watches her disappear into the elevator, at long last. He straightens himself up, smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt.

Yes, tread lightly, girl. You shouldn't even be here. I'd hate for you, or any of you, to get needlessly caught in the crossfire.

He enters the room to find Rem standing in the corner in unyielding silence and L on the couch, fiddling with marshmallows, stacking them into a pyramid shape. The picture frame Elin had made him sits next to it, untouched since she'd put it there. He's probably going to throw it away when he's alone again. That's just what L does. He throws away useless things.

So does Light. But that's out of obligation, as a god. A god destroys, and then he creates.

"You weren't out there to say good-bye to Misa with the rest of us," he points out to him, just to needle him.

They lock eyes, giving Light the chance to behold just how unsightly L is, on the outside as well as the inside. A husk of, if not a god, then a once very great man. No matter how great they are, stories about men who defied gods, they all end the same way. L will be no exception.

"I didn't see the point," he answers flatly, as always. "We said all that there is to say while she was packing. Besides, with everyone else going out to see her off, I didn't think that my presence would be missed."

"Still, it would be the proper thing to do."

Yes. Light will still say good-bye to him when he kills him. It would just be the proper thing to do, out of good sportsmanship. From god to rival. But there will be no grief.

A god has nothing to grieve.


	25. Friend

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."

-Albert Camus

Girls are very strange creatures; emotionally, they seem all over the place. One minute, they'll comment on how your face resembles a monkey's. The next, they'll steal back into the monitor room and try to persuade you to go trick-or-treating like it's a rite of passage and you're nobody unless you've done it. Then they'll get teary-eyed about your lack of a social circle outside of your prime suspect and give you a hug to assure you that no, you're not alone and you're crazy if you believe otherwise, followed up by a blush and a stammered apology for crossing whatever line there was between you, and following that with an angry noogie when they notice that you'd taken the chocolate bar they'd stashed in their pocket (even though she was going to share it with you anyhow), and laugh about it all the while.

Immediately after, she asks for a cup. "You got any more tea? I think it's the least you can do for taking my chocolate, and I for one am parched."

Without a word, he pushes a second teacup across the table and fills it for her. She helps herself to two spoonfuls of sugar, and when her drink is stirred enough for her liking, the spoon makes a soft clink sound against the china as she drops it back over the plate. She raises her cup with a grin, like it's a glass of champagne. "A toast to Halloween! A toast to us, and to our big mouths!"

He finds himself wondering what she means by "a toast to us." Does she mean the task force as a whole? The world at large? Just the two of them? Or all three?

She frowns. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you don't even know how to toast. Raise your cup."

He hasn't had many opportunities to toast, but he knows the basic procedure (and from what he understands, it's usually done with champagne rather than tea). He raises his cup in turn, and she wastes no time clinking their drinks together, hard enough to slosh the tea towards the rims of their cups.

Bipolar disorder at its most endearing.

To say the least, this may be the most festive birthday he's had, so far. Until now he hadn't thought that much about his birthday except that it meant he had an excuse to gorge on cake (not that he really needed one the rest of the year) and that he was getting older (sometimes he felt quite old, much older than twenty-five. Maybe because he's seen more at this point than most people in his age bracket may get to see in their entire lives).

But somewhere in the back of his mind that isn't preoccupied with the shinigami looming silently in the back of the room and the notebook lying open in front of him, he supposes that if this is going to be his last it wouldn't hurt to make it count.

Before long there's a pile of wrappers between them, and she's running her mouth at sixty-five words a minute entertaining him with anecdotes of Halloween escapades, probably in a last effort to get him to go outside yet. Had she not mentioned bringing Misa along, maybe he would've at least considered it…

"Can you believe that anyone could fall for that? To this day, I can't figure out what's dumber: the fact that I actually bought that real monsters ran amok disguised as trick-or-treaters, or that TP-ing people's houses would scare the monsters away because the toilet paper would look like scary ghosts to them! To top it all off, he and his buddies tried to make it so that we'd take the fall for all that!"

Her older brother Farrell sounds like an important figure in her life, and a possible source of some of her self-doubt.

Throwing toilet paper over a house? How wasteful...

It's a rather one-sided conversation, though she does pause briefly between sentences to wait for feedback. Is she waiting for him to share a few stories of his own, if not about Halloween, about anything in general? As the world's greatest detective, he's bound to have a few juicy tales. Maybe he does, they just don't happen to be stories he thinks she should hear.

"…Needless to say, I've been wary of graveyards, since then. Then again, I've kinda always felt funny about graveyards, even before my brother pulled that one on me. I don't know about you, but I mean, you've got dead people right under your feet, almost every square foot, and you can't help but feel like you really shouldn't be walking over the top of them. It's kinda rude, in a way, almost like jumping on the bed while someone's tryna sleep. Sure, someone needs to take care of the graves, so maybe it can't be helped, and they're dead, so it isn't like they can come up to complain or anything, but maybe that's why I feel bad about walking over them: because they can't complain or do much of anything about it?"

He wonders if Light is listening in on this. What would he make of it?

When he doesn't reply, she frowns and takes a long sip. "Is there any more tea? C'mon, I'm hip!"

Her fingers drum incessantly against the table, her foot tapping on the floor. She's even bouncing in her seat, swinging it back and forth by the ball of her heel. Why, she normally would be squeamish when it comes to the subject of death. It must be the sugar. Crouching would alleviate that, he thinks. Crouching would burn the sugars faster.

"You seem rather hyper," he notes. "Perhaps you've had a bit too much?"

"You, telling me I've had too much? Don't yank me! Nobody can tell you when you've had enough, now you wanna come up in my face and tell me I've had enough? Ain't that the kettle calling the pot black? It's Halloween, kid! Although maybe I shouldn't be telling you that; for you, every day is Halloween! Aw, you crack me up. You're a real cut-up without even trying," she chuckles.

"I'm not getting 'in your face.' If either of us is getting in anyone's face, I'd say it was you."

"Well, at least you're speaking up. A conversation involves talk from both sides, y'know." She holds up her two hands in the air and flaps her fingers to mimic an exchange. "I say, 'Dah-dah-dah-dah-dah,' and you say, 'I don't gotta answer to nobody, 'cause I'm justice and don't need to, and if you don't get that, that's your problem.' Jeez, I thought I was chatting up a brick wall, for a second there!"

Suddenly, her face is in her hands, and she droops a little.

"Are you okay? You seem to be crashing."

She shakes her head, waves him away. "Oh, I-I-I'm peachy. Just dizzy, for some reason. Man, how come I've never seen you crash when you're the bigger junk food junkie? Shoot, you're the biggest junk food junkie to have ever walked the earth hands down, and I've never seen you crash once."

Crouching when you sit also prevents crashing.

She rests her head on the desk, her arms a pillow underneath it. "Hey, don't worry about it, I'm just—I'm just gonna sit here, rest my eyes for a beat. Then I'll be right as…as rain…"

Sure enough, her eyes close. But a minute passes, and they don't open again. A few minutes later still, he can hear her snoring. For a moment, it and the hum of the monitors are the only sounds in the room.

Her glasses are crooked on her face as they bend against her forearm. After a moment of deliberation, he reaches over to carefully pull them off by the temple arms before folding and placing them aside. This girl is his friend, now. So they've at last established. She assumes that they're friends because he hadn't said no when she'd asked if they were. With Erin, it's either "yes" or "no," and she doesn't usually take "no" for an answer. Even after all those unsavory things she's professed to him and about him.

He doesn't oppose. As in, he has no aversion towards the idea. Whether they actually could, or should, be friends, however—

He feels Light's presence from within the doorway. The younger man stands with his arms folded across his chest, staring a hole into his back, scornful, condescending. A drastic turn from the good-natured boy he was just days ago.

"I told her that she shouldn't get in the way if she wanted to observe Halloween," mutters Light, shaking his head. Is that supposed to be a threat?

He pulls away from her. She snores on, as blissfully unaware as the rest of the task force.

"Honestly, how can she suggest we do something as inane as trick-or-treating when we still have a mass murderer to catch?" Why would Light have such a problem with that? The more they procrastinate, the longer he's safe from getting caught. Besides, Erin had suggested going out with Misa. He'd think that Light would be disappointed with missing such a grand opportunity to get his name...

"I'm surprised that you'd let her stay. You two have almost never gotten along, from what I've seen."

"You and I haven't always gotten along, either," he points out. "Say, Light…you're finally free to leave headquarters on your own, but it seems you never go out. Even when Misa comes to visit, you only chat with her for a few minutes outside." He takes his teaspoon and shovels a clump of pure sugar into his mouth.

The two lock eyes. "You realize that you're free to have a relationship with her now, don't you?"

A ghost of a smirk flickers through Light's lips before vanishing, leaving a frown behind. "That can wait until we've solved this case. Frankly, I'm in no mood for love or anything else, at the moment," he scoffs. "Anyway, are you suggesting that I'll be a nuisance for staying here?"

"No."

Wishing him a curt good-night, Light heads up the staircase. They used to stay up into the wee hours of the morning discussing theories and findings that only each other could perfectly understand, but not this time. Light has no business with him anymore except to be there for when he dies. Whatever semblance they've had to a friendship, genuine or not, is gone. And as far as he's concerned, the same goes for Amane. The rest of the task force won't believe a word he says, now that their names have been cleared; currently they whisper about the possibility of Mr. Yagami not only getting his job back, but also getting promoted (not that anything's been decided yet).

For the moment, even if she can't see what's going on, it's just him and her.

He plucks a ball of lint clinging to a stray strand of her hair and calls for Watari through the touch of a few buttons. Moving her up to her room without waking her would be rather difficult.

"Yes, Ryuzaki?"

"Watari, could you please bring a blanket and pillow?"


	26. Heart

Biologically speaking, they were two strangers whose paths fate had decided to intertwine seventeen years before. But the boy had dug himself such a deep warm place in his heart, he could say that their bond had resembled that of one between a grandparent and child (with a few deviations). He knew the pain that Soichiro felt as he watched helplessly while his son destroyed himself, neither knowing it, wondering if it all was because of his own failings in raising him. He knew the anguish that Aizawa and Aiber bore about being away from their young ones, not knowing if they would ever get to see them smile again.

And as any parent might feel in this situation, he was moved as the day came when he started to notice L opening up his heart to someone besides him.

Unlike most ordinary parents, it hurt him more. Because of the futility of it all.

Admittedly, he hadn't seen it coming, and perhaps neither had L. By that time, L was at that age where most young men like him would have girlfriends, or have at least kissed a girl. But given his circumstances, he hadn't had the chance to be in lasting or meaningful proximity with females to know how to interact with them, never mind grow an attachment for them; he'd had people like Aiber to do the work in that field, were it ever necessary. He hadn't lied when he'd said that he was all that L had. That, and his occupation.

That wasn't to say there were no women of talent that he admired from a distance, such as FBI agent Naomi Misora, the Japanese idol Misa Amane, and "Wedy" the thief by trade. But none of these admirations had been necessarily of the romantic nature, from what he could see. Or if any of them were, he never had the chance or the willingness to act on such attractions. The women he encountered either were already spoken for or had no interest in him beyond business.

Then again, neither of them had foreseen the messy arrival of one Erin Blogger, either: an American exchange student with dreams of one day becoming at least a semi-competent journalist. A journalist, of all things; the press had been one of the groups that L had spent the most effort evading since he became the great detective. He could still remember how terrified and confused and frustrated she'd been when L took her into custody, begging and demanding and tittering and jumping all over the place like a captured animal. Most legal systems would classify the act as kidnapping, but it'd had to be done, what with Blogger's seeing the task force arrest Misa, the suspected Second Kira. L would've done anything to keep everything pertaining to the case under wraps.

And so she'd stayed with them for the duration of the case, and throughout this period, she'd refused to keep her presence quiet. She complained (about L). She protested. She criticized (his methods, his train of thought) without sparing an ounce of consideration for the motivations behind his actions beyond "he's just a jerk with a heart of jerk." When she got particularly upset, she swore quite a bit and resorted to name-calling. Their altercations did not get as violent as the ones L and prime suspect Light Yagami would get into; perhaps because Light was equal to L when it came to intellect and prowess, and therefore could go on and on with no sign of a victory for either side in sight. Indeed, they were constantly at a stalemate.

With her, all L had to do was make a fool out of her in some way, often with a cool, cutting remark or two, and she'd storm off either grumbling or, worse still, crying. That didn't stop her from charging back into him when a new problem arose, though he'd shoot her down the same way, every time thereafter. Like a child who bullied another child to conceal the fact that he secretly liked her.

Watari had been with him for a great sum of his life, so it would make sense that he could understand him the best (if at all). He saw it in the way he snuck surreptitious glances in her direction when she was in the room before sinking back into the murky depths of his work before she or anyone can catch him. In his awkward attempts to comfort her after another trying milestone of the case. In his unusually cold replies to her attempts to defend Matsuda from him (of which Watari was the only one to suspect as symptoms of L's first bout of jealousy).

The seeds of suspicion were planted on the day she'd asked him for her contact lenses, only to discover that L had been withholding them for some time (also known as the day L had subjected Aizawa to that grueling test). Because of the arrangement L and Light had agreed on involving the handcuffs, he couldn't very well discuss the matter with as much discretion as either of them would've preferred. He drew his conclusions from the things he'd overhear around the corners, where he tended and oversaw the background.

Erin was a likeable girl, in her own right. When she wasn't busy being loud or brash or indulging in another frustrated outburst that ended with a shamed tip of her hat to hide her face, she was friendly and lively, if somewhat emotional. In fact, she got along well with everyone else on the task force who wasn't L. She spoke her mind and could be astute when she took the time to sit down and collect herself.

And she was compassionate, though this tended to take on the form of asking L why he wouldn't tell Light that criminals were dying again during his detainment, or nagging Wedy to stop smoking indoors (or quit altogether). Her heart was in the right place.

Yet, Watari never once voiced his thoughts on this. It would've done him no good to. For one, L didn't need the distractions that would've come with discussing it, not while he was in the middle of the most dangerous case he had ever taken up.

For another, what would come out of it all? Even if she returned the feelings, she would also have to return to her own life as soon as the case had closed. L had made it a requirement to keep a certain distance from anyone he would have to interact with; it was easier that way, for security, professional and personal reasons. She was his responsibility, nothing more. It benefited everyone if she was treated as best as the situation would allow. It had nothing to do with "liking her."

Not to mention, his social skills were sub-par at best (he had never been quite right by conventional standards, but Watari couldn't deny bearing some fault in his deficiencies, as well). How easy it was for someone to interpret L's actions as stark indifference, condescension, contempt or even cruelty, and any attempts he made to imply otherwise did little more than help to confuse. Watari couldn't count the times he'd had to hold his tongue to keep from saying no, L didn't have anything against her or any of them and he never had, that he wasn't as irredeemably horrible as everyone thought he was. He was closest to him. Of course he'd defend him. Only L could make that evident…or at least, as evident as he chose to.

"Watari, could you please bring a blanket and pillow?" he requested on Halloween night, which also happened to be his twenty-fifth birthday, a fact that was lost to everyone but Watari and the birthday boy in question. By some sort of miracle, she had offered to be a friend of his after trying to point out that Light needn't be his only one—well, to be precise, she'd asked L if they were friends and then assumed that they were because he hadn't said no (though he hadn't actually said yes, either). The whole scene had been…warming to Watari, to say the least.

Upon arriving with the requested blanket and pillow, he found her slumped over the desk in a post-sugar-high slumber with candy wrappers littered around her head. L was crouched in the chair beside her, his chin resting on his knees as he observed her snoring, his face blended in a quiet mix of curiosity, fascination, and if Watari wasn't mistaken, a little protectiveness.

"Two percent," indeed. Working face-to-face with others for the first time had affected L more profoundly than either had counted on.

But even that couldn't compare to what L would do several days later.

"Ryuzaki? Is something the matter? What is it?"

That look…he'd looked so decided, even with the curve in his posture and his hair hanging over his face as he'd entered Watari's room like a child having difficulty sleeping.

"What's wrong?"

...

"Where is the notebook?"

With quirked eyebrows but without question, he handed him the killer notebook they had retrieved from Misa Amane's apartment after receiving confirmation from a teary-eyed Blogger that she was the Second Kira, after all.

The earth seemed to stop in mid-rotation as he watched L fish out a pen from a cup on the desk and open the notebook to scribble something into it.

"Whose name are you writing?" he asked, almost breathlessly.

"The last name to ever be written in this notebook," he'd answered as he held the book up with the edge pinched between his fingers. There on the open page, in L's crooked handwriting, these words burned into Watari's heart:

L Lawliet. 

At 8:35 am on November 5th, he experiences arrhythmia that momentarily stops his pulse, but he recovers within minutes and dies peacefully of heart failure 23 days later. 

He didn't permit Watari to voice a reaction—as if he could at that moment—as he explained, "Light is going to try to kill me with the notebook, Watari. That is an inescapable fact now. This is the only way to outwit Kira, to outwit death. It's a small sacrifice."

When Watari did open his mouth, he stopped instead to close his eyes and fight back the emotions bubbling over in the form of tears scorching the back of his eyes. Ever since they had met during the Winchester Mad Bombings, he had made it his duty to accept every decision L made and support him in every way that he could. He would offer guidance, but the choice was always L's in the end. This was no exception. Besides, once an entry had been made in the notebook, it couldn't be reversed, no matter what anyone said or did.

By instinct, he knew what exactly was to be done after L had died. Someone would need to take his place. A new L. But still…

"Twenty-three days…"

"That's right. I'm going to use this to convince Mr. Yagami and the others to go along with our charade. They will pretend to take Higuchi's notebook to America to test it. On the morning they 'depart,' I want you to go and bring Misa Amane back to headquarters. Kira and I have a score to settle."

All he could do was affirm his request: "Very well." It took everything he had to keep the quake out of his voice. It was understandable, how someone could mistake L's objectivity as nonchalance. Twenty-three days suddenly seemed so short to him. All that time, all those trials and triumphs, gone. Just like that.

It had never been his intention, but sometimes, like now, he wondered if for all of his passivity, he had doomed L to this. What would L have done with his life had he not stepped into it? Would he have been happy? Would he have lived a long life?

"Oh, and Watari?"

"Hm?"

His tone was flat upon mentioning the alias he had given her, but the considerable softness of his voice left a twinge in Watari's chest, all the same. This could almost have been considered his way of pleading, though not on his behalf. He'd decided and accepted his fate a long time ago.

"If Miss Crocker goes to you with any questions, give her no answers. If she becomes aware of what's going on, I have no doubt that she'll try to interfere."

He could not utter a word in objection. All he could do was nod, as he had all this time.

Watari would not be there to see him die, however, nor to see him get his heart broken before the time he'd designated. On his way back to L with Misa in tow, a spot of trouble with his own heart by no fault of its own would take him away, before then.


	27. Thief

As useless as wishing is, he finds a small percentage of himself—roughly ten percent—wishing it wouldn't come to this. He wishes that it never happened, he thought he was above it. Had it not been for that maybe this would be easier?

He'd known since the day he first laid eyes on Light Yagami that he was Kira, and no matter how adamantly he'd protest his innocence—and how remarkably believable his protests had been—he'd known that he would return to being Kira eventually. As was the case for Misa Amane, the Second Kira. Except up until this point, no one would side with him on the matter, which he supposed was understandable. It wasn't as if he had any substantial evidence against either of them, and this was without taking into account their attachment to the young man.

Light Yagami, the prodigious son of the Chief of the NPA, with the adoring girlfriend who'd do anything to make him love her, even going so far as to kill.

…

Attachment complicated things. It clouded objective thinking, muddled judgment, made you vulnerable in too many ways. It disregarded reason and left far too much room for error. One needed only to look as far as Misa or Mr. Yagami's display early in the investigation to see its effects in the negative spectrum. True justice was impartial.

He supposes then that this makes him a hypocrite from the word "go."

She's been crying herself to sleep for the past few nights since she had overheard a revealing exchange between Light and Misa, just after the killings had resumed. Besides Watari, whose faith he has always had, she's the only one who truly believes him now. Of course she'd been in tears when he'd cornered her in her room when she disclosed their every word to him, apologizing over and over almost as though this was somehow her fault that they had returned to being Kira.

He doesn't like hearing her cry, or anyone really. It's unpleasant to look at, even less pleasant to listen to. He himself hasn't shed a tear since he was a small child; he doesn't quite remember what it was over (or rather he doesn't want to), only that when he had finished he'd vowed never to personally indulge in tears again. His mind tends associates tears and sobbing with helplessness. Granted he's never thought of himself as some sort of invincible god-like being (unlike certain others), but one doesn't need to be—or aspire to be—a god to crave control. Control guaranteed accuracy, success, victory, safety. He hates to lose, he's even professed to it. He'd do anything to keep it.

His need for control is perhaps the main reason why he feels like this. Things have moved beyond it, no matter what he's already done in hopes of regaining it.

It's 4:09 a.m. when he stirs from five hours of bobbing in and out between sleep and consciousness, as indicated by the dim digital clock by the bed, the only remote source of light in her room. It's still raining, almost as hard as it had been when they had begun drifting off. He hears it clamoring against the windowpane like the chime of a heralding bell.

The bell isn't for him. Not yet.

Somehow they've managed to shift from the position they'd fallen asleep in and now she is the one holding on to him, her arms draped around his torso in a loose embrace and her feverish forehead pressed just underneath his Adam's apple. Oh, the awkwardness if she were conscious of this but she isn't. The vibration from her mouth with every snore tickles the exposed skin above his collarbone as he watches the top of her messy pillow-head, from which springs a straggle of hair sticking to the corner of her mouth that he dares to brush back behind her ear with his fingertips.

He briefly notes her scent and wonders if all girls smell this pleasant. Not that he's known very many women but all of the ones he's met smelled nice—Misora, Amane, Wedy, and now Blogger. It would usually be enhanced by a perfume or shampoo or soap but at the moment she doesn't smell very much like any of those things. Aside from the cotton of her pajamas, she doesn't smell like anything in particular. But perhaps that's what makes it pleasant to him?

…

He wishes that he hadn't developed feelings for the girl. It would've never happened if he could control it. But there's the problem. If he had control over it. It was like a cancer: striking when one would least expect it, growing with every passing day, every argument, every outing, every step in progress, every smile and laugh (even if he didn't actively participate in either)…and by the time he could identify it, it was already too late. It had metastasized beyond treatment.

The only option he'd had left was to ignore it, and failing that keep her oblivious (for all of her quick-wittedness, she's easy to confuse or distract with her biases and restlessness). But even then this has been a marginal success. Just lying here with her now doesn't exactly help his cause. He'd been somewhat surprised that she had allowed him to sleep here out of kindness, considering the nature of their relationship. What's even more surprising is that she's managed to fall asleep in his company. A sure sign of, if not accumulation of trust, then a loss of distrust.

That, and sheer exhaustion.

It seems that to a certain degree she's grown attached to him as well. Both good and not good.

He shifts around as quietly as possible so that he is now face to face with her. Her lips are slightly parted in sleep, her nostrils flaring and shrinking with every snore she makes, the color in her puffy face washed out by the watery dying light from outside the window. She looks soft and innocent.

She almost looks kissable.

Damned hormones.

He curls his arms up to his chest. On occasion, especially when they've fought, he's tentatively theorized about what might happen if he kissed her to shut her up. Like they do in the movies Misa enjoys so much even if he can barely tolerate them. How might she react? Would she slap him, or babble like she tends to do when she's uneasy and break out into a sweat? Would she return the gesture? That last scenario isn't terribly likely.

Until this point he hadn't deemed it a risk worth taking. If he tried it, it would only complicate things more than they already are or need to be. Especially with Light and company around, and even if they weren't.

Would it make him a coward if he tried it now, while they were alone and she would be unaware of it? What would happen if she woke up to find their lips locked? She'd already sacrificed a great chunk of her sense of personal space just to let him sleep here, let alone hold her.

Hasn't he taken enough advantage of her?

His face swims up to hers without his notice as he ponders, the tips of their noses drawing together like magnets. Before he can stop himself, their lips make contact. Apparently no.

His brush against her upper lip before drifting to linger on her lower one. Her lips feel so dry and cracked and crusty against his, probably from the tears she's shed and having her mouth hang open. Being new and clumsy at this, he's unsure as to whether he's applying too much pressure or not.

Shouldn't he be pulling away now?

About five seconds into the kiss his chest clenches when he sees her features do it first. She emits a sharp alarming "Hmmph" against his mouth, repelling him with a puff of stale morning breath.

As he pulls away making a soft smacking noise at the second of departure, he waits for her to start drilling her knuckles into his scalp and the accompanying array of bewildered curse words ("What the hell are ya doing?").

Instead Erin reaches up to rub at her lips and nose with her pajama sleeve like a fly or some other irritant has landed there, smacking her mouth all the while. Her arms retract and she sluggishly rolls over to face away from him in a slight curl, strands of her muddy-brown hair nipping at his face and neck. Apart from resuming her snoring she doesn't move again. The beast is no closer to being a prince than before the kiss.

He doesn't know if she's shared kisses with others in the past but this has been his first one on the lips, however brief and lacking. And she'll never know about it.

He's stolen it from her. Like a thief.

Because at the end of the day—or night, as it were—that's all he is. A thief, a liar and a cheater who is further away from real justice than he lets on. He is incorrigibly selfish, and no matter how close one could get to him, even going so far as to be his friend, he'd betray them one way or another.

A concept that Light and Misa should both be quite familiar with, especially now that it will soon be thrown in their faces.

On the other hand he doesn't want her to know. If she finds out anything she'll get in the way, like she always does.

There are so many things you mustn't know. 

But is even that much under his control at this point?

Pulling the covers up to her shoulder, he begins to crawl out from under their warmth when he's able to will away that small obnoxious ember dimming in his stomach. The tip of his thumb finds his mouth partly to console him, partly to attempt to simulate the feel of her lips on his. He can't risk waking her up for real.

As much as he wishes that it wouldn't come to this, he knows that it's useless. Once he starts something he will see it through to the end, no matter what interference he might get.

The bell is getting louder. Perhaps a little time in the rain will help to drown it out? Maybe cleanse him of this guilt which clings to him like the funk that grows from sleeping in one's day clothes?

With the stealth of a thief, he exits her room and grants her whatever precious little time and peace he can to spend on sleep.


	28. Mistake

With the emergence of the notebook and shinigami, it seemed that Light had finally boxed him in. He had managed to turn the task force against him, forced him to let him go and discontinue surveillance on Misa, all because of a single (conveniently placed) rule that hadn't been tested. He had been the only one of the group not satisfied with this evidence, but as was usually the case in a group, the majority won out.

If one could use chess as a metaphor to describe this long-running battle of wits, Kira had placed him in check. The lack of surveillance, on the one hand, could've been used to his advantage, as it would've been when Light and Misa would move again. And move they did: just days after Higuchi's death and their release, criminals had begun dying again.

But only he had brought up the fact that these killings had begun as soon as Misa had gone home, and of course, Light shut him down. With the 13-day rule in place, it didn't take long for Mr. Yagami and the others to side with him. If that rule just wasn't there…everything would've made sense. Everything else could incriminate Light, even the torn corner of a page in the notebook. The shinigami Rem had insisted that she didn't know, but if one could kill on a piece of notebook paper, it would explain how Light had managed to keep his cover under surveillance, possibly why Higuchi had expired on the scene.

If it just weren't for that rule…

At the time, it'd seemed that the only chance he'd had in exposing Kira was to conduct a test to prove—or disprove—the validity of his alibi, this rule. And this was most likely when his opponent would land his coup de grâce. If Misa had at any time been the Second Kira before her arrest, she may have seen his face at To-Oh University and therefore his name with the Shinigami Eyes. But she may have forgotten it after seeing it just once before being immediately imprisoned and forced to give up her notebook, with it her memories. Why else had he not died as soon as she had gone home and regained her powers?

But Light had another ally in the wings. The shinigami. She distrusted every last one of them, providing evasive responses to his inquiries about the notebook's mechanics. If shinigami had the power to make a deal with a human to lend them its eyesight, Rem was certain to have the Eyes, herself. Somehow, Rem would play a larger role in Light's plan beyond simply providing him alibis.

At the rate things were going, it wouldn't be long until this check became checkmate.

He had thought about going through with his plan to find two criminals on death row to conduct the experiment, anyway. If something were indeed to happen to him, his successors could possibly take over for him; that was what they'd been trained to do, after all. Admittedly, he almost cringed at the thought of someone finishing what he had started. This was his game, his case, his job. He didn't like to share if it could be helped, especially at the level his successors currently stood. Neither of them were ready, not even close.

For the briefest of times L thought maybe he could stand to wait a few years, albeit begrudgingly. He could arrange to pass on to the House all the essential information, everything he's learned up to this point. Mello and Near would have the upper hand as long as no one knew that they existed, never mind what their names were or what they looked like. And as long as the task force was kept oblivious, Light would keep them alive to use towards his ends.

Then a new complication arose. A promotion and a wrench.

…

The monster in the photograph had not been there when they'd first confiscated it for evidence. With the awareness of the notebook fresh in their minds, he held up the image to his brow, pinching the top left corner in his index finger and thumb. Both had sought out the discretion of Watari's room, away from the others. A dark room for developing a damning piece of visual evidence. 

She was blurry with her back to the viewer, but this was undoubtedly the same shinigami that had been found with Higuchi. Rem. 

"She confided in me to have encountered Miss Amane before taking this photo," admitted Watari, his brow knitted with concern. "She seemed…quite distressed upon telling me this, and even requested that I didn't tell you or anyone yet. I can understand her perspective, though. It isn't easy to acknowledge that a friend of yours may be a criminal.

"Be gentle with her, Ryuzaki. I know you have it in you. She's quite conflicted and frightened as it is." 

…

Erin Blogger, the unwitting and unwilling pawn, had heard them. She never could seem to stay in place. They had discussed evil intent right before her eyes. They had talked about killing him. She wouldn't even get out of bed the next time he'd dropped in on her. Without having to see the tears and snot staining her face first, he got his confirmation. She was beyond distressed. After all of this time of telling him at every opportunity how he was "full of it," she was devastated.

L had never felt more relieved to leave as soon as he'd requested that she stay out of the way for her safety. Her crying irritated him so; he didn't know what to do to make it stop except offer a handkerchief, a glass of water and vague words of hope that they would figure this out together, that justice would be served.

As soon as he was out in the hallway, the tip of his fingernail lodged into his teeth. Erin often misinterprets things but she wouldn't lie, not about something like this. He may have just been granted a golden opportunity to catch Kira and win this game. And yet…

You fool. Not only are you yourself now in danger but you've managed to singlehandedly place the entire task force in jeopardy as well. Is this how Light felt when Misa and I met at To-Oh against his wishes…? 

He hadn't told her this. The last thing he needed was to make her panic. Erin Blogger is prone to rash decisions in dire situations. And it wasn't as though she'd intended to eavesdrop on the two. But when it boiled down to it, the task force had now been put at high risk for her carelessness. This was even worse than the time she'd first made her presence known to the suspects, worse than the stunt Matsuda had pulled with the Yotsuba Group. He had no way of knowing if Light or Misa had noticed her, if Misa had gotten to see her face with her newly reacquired Eyes, or if they had, how they would respond to this. The obvious choice for them would be to kill her, but when?

He thought about sending her home, but no. He can't do that. He said she couldn't leave until Kira was caught. Now he really can't let her leave his sights. If Misa did manage to catch her name, she and Light would use her leaving as their chance to kill her discreetly, probably by accident or something like that. Sickness would be too slow and a heart attack would be a plain give-away. And outright suicide would be difficult to make look believable given for all of her mood swings she's never expressed any tendencies towards such.

If they'd killed her right away she wouldn't have had the chance to relay their conversation to him; there'd be no point in killing her after the damage was done. At the same time, her death would not only irrevocably incriminate Misa, but Light also. Neither Kira would have a reason to kill her; theoretically "they" shouldn't even know of her involvement. The task force could never overlook or rationalize that.

Besides, L was a much bigger threat by comparison. She wouldn't have come to him asking what they should do if she could have done something about this herself. As long as he was alive, they couldn't touch her. They'd have to get rid of him first.

And he had a good idea of what Erin would do if something happened to him. She'd break down and blow her cover once again. She'd tell the others everything even with the threat of death looming over her head. She'd probably even confront the two directly; that was just the sort of person she was. Regardless of her feelings towards them, neither Light nor Misa would hesitate to kill her then. And should the rest of the force get in the way, as they inevitably would do, they would all be wiped out also.

He can't allow this to happen. He may have never killed anyone personally like Light or Misa, but he's good at getting people killed. Some of them had been deliberate (i.e., Lind L. Tailor), but countless others have lost their lives during this case alone because of his oversights. Ukita, the FBI agents, police officers, perhaps even Misora…

And A…and B…and…

If they all die Kira would go on to create his new world unopposed. He'd probably even take on his name and masquerade in his place like he'd suggested before, like how he masquerades under all of these aliases. In short, he would win.

No. He can't wait for his successors. He must act now, while he's still able to.

He glanced over his shoulder towards her door, wondering how long she'll be able to do as he says before trying to take matters into her own hands.

I may not know what it's like to have a stable home and family waiting for me, but I do know that you are more fortunate than you realize, Blogger. You all are. I promised you would be able to return to that once Kira was caught. You can't very well go home if you die…

…

"Holy shit, Ryuzaki. Looks like your gut proved right again…Amane really does have a notebook. The pages are filled with names of known criminals…"

When has his gut been ever wrong to begin with? Without the task force's knowledge or consent, L had called on Wedy and Aiber one last time, to find solid proof of Misa's guilt. One can't convict someone with sheer testimony alone. 

"Wedy, can I assume then that you've touched the notebook?"

"Obviously I have, or else I wouldn't be thumbing through it and seeing all of these names."

"Can you see or hear a shinigami anywhere in the apartment?" 

"So far, no. But just in case, I'll keep my guard up."

Strange. Wasn't a shinigami supposed to stay close to the notebook? Or…?

The feed on Wedy's end began to pop and click. "I'm taking pictures of the notebook now, as well as of all of the pages."

"Very well. And afterwards, I'd like you to install a few cameras, bugs and wiretaps throughout the apartment. Can you do this for me before Misa returns home, Wedy?" 

"Did you honestly have to ask? Are you getting enough sugar over there? It's not like you to ask stupid questions like that."

By "okay," she meant…? 

"I'm well-supplied, thank you." He turned from the monitor and looked to Watari. "Watari, how long do you suppose it would take you to make a counterfeit?" 

"With the photos provided by Wedy, I should be able to make a perfect replica in about one night." 

…

With the new surveillance cameras placed on Misa, they'd been able to keep track of the dates, times and conditions meant for each intended victim and fabricate the stories of their deaths accordingly to broadcast on the news channels. With Aiber's charm and a bit of bribery, this had been no problem. In fact, when it came to Demegawa, Aiber's salesmanship had been rendered as almost unnecessary, so great had been his lust for wealth and ratings.

…

L could hear the mild distaste tingeing the con man's voice over the phone as he relayed the deal he had struck up with the director of Sakura TV. "Would you believe it if I told you that that guy even gives me the creeps? He isn't one of those honest people who believe in what Kira's doing; he just wants a cut of the attention he's getting. Then again, if he really supported him, he probably wouldn't have agreed to let us use the TV station to lure out Higuchi."

"I see. Thank you. Expect to find your payment directly deposited into your account in two days' time. That goes for Wedy, too." 

"Hm? You're paying us so soon? You usually wait until everything's been said and done before doling out the money. We haven't even gotten to confronting our culprit, yet. Don't you want us to be there when that happens?"

"…I thank you for your offer, Aiber, but that won't be necessary. This plan also involves bringing in Misa Amane, whom I suspect to have the Shinigami Eyes. You and Wedy have been able to evade Kira because he hadn't known your names or faces. Though both he and the Second Kira have seen your faces, your names are still unknown to them. I intend to keep it that way." 

"Aww, how thoughtful of you," Aiber teased in a mock-affectionate tone. "Almost like your girlfriend. She made me a little picture frame, in case you didn't know: a little something for my boy when I get home. Gave one to Wedy, too—"

Girlfriend? As in a female friend, or a romantic interest? Was he referring to…

L started to suck his thumb. He shouldn't have expected anything less from one of the world's best con artists. He gave no response. Almost anything he could've said would've likely been used to confirm his accusations. Then again, so did not saying anything, didn't it? 

"Don't worry. I know how it is. I don't think I need to remind you that your secrets are safe with me. We both know what would happen besides if I sold you out. Honestly, though, it's too bad; I was looking forward to seeing Kira go up in smoke. But…if that's what you want, I'll just have to roll with it, don't I? You know? In spite of everything, with you having me on a leash for all this time, I must say, it's been fun working with you…L."

The way he trailed off like that made L suspect that Aiber was getting an inkling that this could very well be the last time they would all work together again. 

…

Of course, with all of this going on there was still the matter of the other members of the task force. They may have had problems trusting him and his theories because of Light, but this was never going to work unless he had their cooperation. The evidence he was gathering against Misa was becoming overwhelming, while Light refused to give so much as an inch.

L would have to provide proof by showing Misa's notebook to Mr. Yagami and make him recognize his determination enough to go along with his plan, even with his almost blind faith in his only son. He had nothing on him; this plan could either catch Light red-handed or prove his innocence once and for all provided that he truly was so. He'd called him in in secret, made him the first of the task force to become aware of Misa's notebook. As expected he demanded how on earth he could go behind their backs to watch Misa when he had explicitly promised to stop surveillance on her.

…

"I'm afraid, Mr. Yagami, that I was soon placed in a position where I could not keep my word after I'd given it. Besides, had I kept it, we may not have found this among Misa's possessions." 

"And what position would that have been?" he demanded. Mr. Yagami had been aging rather poorly ever since his first heart attack; the black in his hair had all but completely succumbed to grey, and his weight had been dropping. Now standing before L, this man looked more in his mid-sixties than early fifties. 

How could Light be so blind as to how good he has it? To have such a good father, mother and sister supporting him as much as they do, and not care how much he made them suffer even if they didn't know the truth? Light Yagami has everything one could ask for and yet it seems it's all nothing to him. Perhaps that's the price one pays for godhood? 

He didn't suppose he was much better in that regard, himself. 

L grunted. "Miss Crocker came to me claiming to have heard Light and Misa discuss several incriminating things outside. My first assumption was that she may have misheard, but to be safe I had Wedy check Misa's apartment; that's how we found this." 

"What? That's ridiculous! What the hell were they talking about?" Mr. Yagami began to turn, presumably to storm out and seek Erin for confirmation. 

"Mr. Yagami, please don't," was L's firm reply. "I'll have to ask you not to bother her, at the moment. If you go up to her room and make a scene you'll draw attention to you both, placing the entire task force at risk." 

The older man's teeth gnashed together. The way his sweat glistened under the sterile lighting, he almost looked like a melting snowman. "My son. Is not. Kira. He can't be! The 13-day rule—" 

"Is now under question. It's true, we still have no proof that Light is the original Kira. That's where I need your help, Mr. Yagami. Help from you and the others. If this works, you can be assured of Light's innocence once and for all. Or his guilt. As you can see, I've already given up my life for this…" 

The former chief of the NPA blanched upon seeing what had been scrawled within the pages of the killer notebook. "R—Ryuzaki, you've…is that—" 

"Yes. This is my real name, in my handwriting. I will die within twenty-three days, no matter how things pan out." 

Mr. Yagami seized the notebook from his fingertips, his hands, his shoulders trembling. "But…but why? Why would you—" 

"This is in case Light or Misa attempt to kill me using the notebook before the time I've specified, assuming that he is guilty. If he's innocent, I will expire either way, and he can finally be free from accusations of any kind." 

L could see slivers of glass shine in the Chief's desperate eyes. He was manipulating his good will towards his ends, he knew this too well. Soichiro Yagami would never let someone die for their convictions in vain, even if he disagreed with them. And that didn't mention the chance to clear his only son's name for good. He was gravely quiet for a moment as he handed the book back to L. 

Is there no other way?

"What is it you intend to do?" he whispered. 

"Can you recall when we'd argued about testing the notebook by using two convicts on death row?" 

"I do. Why? Are you still planning to go through with it?" 

"In a way, yes…"

…

Though it went against his honest nature, Mr. Yagami and company had proved to be great actors. Then again, he had had to act several times before, most notably when he'd had to pretend to take Misa and Light to their "execution" (perhaps superb acting skills ran in the Yagami family?). The Chief had approached L with the condition that he'd be allowed to bear personal witness to the experiment. Watari had had their transportation arranged and had left to fetch Misa. Erin had been knocked unconscious and set out of harm's way.

Now it was just him, the shinigami (who hadn't left with the notebook, as he'd expected), and Light in the monitor room.

"Ryuzaki, I didn't want to embarrass you in front of the others, but why are you all wet?" He sounded concerned, but he knew better. Light was mocking him. Embarrassing him is all he's been doing since Higuchi's death.

"Oh, that may be because I've just come in from the rain," he explained flatly, pouring himself a piping-hot cup of tea. As usual, Watari had prepared a fresh pot for him when he would rejoin the group to briefly go over the details of the mission one last time.

"The rain? What were you doing out there?" Light chuckled.

Trying to wash away his guilt. Drowning out the heralding bell. Leading her on. Dragging her to her room when leading her on had failed. 

"You sure are strange, Ryuzaki."

Erin had always thought that about him, too. Yet even when he'd admitted to it, she still hadn't totally agreed with him.

Slurp. "A fair assessment. But, perhaps I could say the same about you."

Light quirked an eyebrow. "Hm? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Tell me, Light. From the moment you were born, has there ever been a point where you've actually told the truth?" he asked, paraphrasing a question that Erin had asked him once during Light's confinement when she'd been mad at him (like there'd ever been a time when she wasn't mad at him).

"Has there never been a point in your life where it wouldn't have killed you to tell the truth, a-and not make up some tall tale, since like, the moment you were born?"

For what seemed like a piece of eternity ripped out from the normal flow of time, the two locked in a mutual stare. Light sneered at him through glazed bronze eyes, as if to say, You say that like you have any right to talk about the evils of lying. 

Maybe he didn't. Light was right; the two of them really did have a lot in common. Being pathological liars was just one thing.

L hadn't answered when he'd been asked that. With Light, his answer was smooth and well-thought out. "Where's this coming from, Ryuzaki? I do admit I stretch the truth, here and there. But, find me someone in this world who's never had to tell a lie. It wouldn't be easy, if not impossible. Human beings just aren't made to be perfect like that. Everyone lies, now and then. Even so, I've always made a conscious effort to be careful not to tell a lie that could hurt others. That's my answer."

Light had quite a bit of nerve himself to be discussing the inherent imperfections of humanity. Probably because he didn't see himself as one of them. Not anymore. Light was a god, not a human being.

A grim smile flickered through L's lips before vanishing, leaving them taut. He took another scalding sip of his tea. "Somehow, I had a feeling you'd say something like that."

Light Yagami. His greatest enemy. His first friend.

"Besides, kid, you're a friend of mine. I kinda have to believe in at least something you'd say. Because that's what…friends do. They believe in each other. And stuff. Wouldn't be friends if they didn't."

Perhaps your definition of a friend differs from mine? 

For all of his assumed genius, L wasn't sure if he truly knew what the word meant, if it had any meaning. Friend. It couldn't be spelled without "end" and was but one letter away from "fiend." Light and Misa had pretended to be his friends, odd comrades just like everyone else in their little group. And now with their names cleared, both had moved from under his nose and were out to eliminate him from the way of their new world.

Although, he couldn't exactly call himself the victim here. He too was guilty of deceit in their so-called relationship from the moment he had told Light that he was his first-ever friend. He was deceiving his companion right as they spoke, with equal measure.

Light decided to cut to the chase. "What are you up to?"

"Shortly, Watari will return here with Misa in tow."

Light's eyes narrowed. "That's what this is about? Why Misa?" He might get away with the concerned boyfriend act with the rest, but not here with him.

Time to drop the bomb. Light would be forced to make his move with this. "For some unexplained reason, the 13-day rule doesn't affect Misa Amane, despite the fact that she's the Second Kira, which means she has the other notebook. I'm certain that this is true. As soon as she was released criminals began dying again. I refuse to consider that mere coincidence."

Light cracked something that looked somehow like both a scowl and a smirk, though leaning more towards the latter with double the bitterness. "You just can't ever let your theories go, can you? If Misa truly was the Second Kira, wouldn't she have killed you as soon as she went home?"

L's cup was now nearly empty, with the gooey mound of half-dissolved sugar peeking up through the tea. "Yes. But, she may have forgotten my name after only seeing it once at To-Oh, and then being immediately incarcerated."

"Maybe. Women are always forgetting things," Light noted dryly, folding his arms.

Yes. Women do forget things. And so have you, Light. They also tend to be more forgiving, before finding something new to bicker about.

He's not sure though if she will be able to forgive or forget this time.

…

She'd made the mistake of waiting for the elevator, giving him the chance to subdue her. Even if he'd been telling the truth about testing the notebook, he knew she would've acted to stop him. He couldn't recall seeing her look at him with so much fear and contempt, like he had turned into a demon before her eyes, before she turned and ran. Ran away from one monster to tango with the other lurking downstairs.

Watching her bolt towards the elevator made him think of Ukita, running boldly, blindly to his untimely death in a vain attempt to stop the Second Kira's attack on Sakura TV alone. He had done nothing to stop him. Nothing to save him. He wasn't going to just stand there and watch this time.

She had been a general nuisance ever since he'd taken her into custody. If Erin were a nuisance to him, she'd be nothing but a liability to Light and Misa. Why couldn't she accept that they were no longer their friends? 

The answer to this could probably be the one for why the others had been turning blind eyes. Or why she still bothers to talk to him despite their differences. 

She was a tad heavy, but he managed to carry her from the elevator to her room, set her down on her bed to peel her dripping jacket from her limp body before easing her into a reclining position on the mattress and taking off her hat and glasses. Rain water dampened her sheets and pillow, as tendrils of murky brown hair clung to her sweat and tear-streaked face. She hadn't bothered to change into actual clothes before going out to look for him; she'd retrieved him from the rain in her pajamas. 

His hand smoothed back the hair hanging over her eyes. In what must've been the most inappropriate of times, he vaguely thought about pressing his lips to her forehead. But the urge went almost as soon as it came. There was a dangerously good chance she'd despise him when this was all over, but to be frank he hadn't the time to worry about it. They were waiting for him. He was waiting for him. 

He placed her glasses and hat where she could reach them before slinking out. He might've taken off her waterlogged shoes, but something about soaked, smelly tube socks had always repulsed him. 

…

"I'll jog her memory. I'm going to show Misa my face again."

Light looked at him like he'd just proposed that he be tarred and feathered. "What? But if she's…"

That's odd. I was under the impression that you believed in her innocence, Light. 

Unperturbed, he poured himself a second cup. The hum of the lights and computers resounded throughout the room like a foreboding melismatic chant. "As soon as she sees me, she's going to try to write my name in her notebook. That's when we'll get her. We have to do this in order to get that notebook."

"We don't know when or where she'll write in it."

"There are cameras covering every inch of this building," he reminded. Seeing Light play dumb like this almost sickened him.

"How can we be sure she'll even bring the notebook?"

Slurp. The gritty tea splashed the back of his throat like battery acid. "She will bring it," he gulped. "She has to kill me. This is a golden opportunity."

Light timed his thoughtful pause with sleek precision before taking a breath. "All right. If you're so certain she's the Second Kira that you would risk your life to catch her, then I can do no less. After I grab her, we'll detain her. Then we'll ask her where the first Kira is, I assume?"

"We'll have the proof. So she'll be forced to talk, this time."

…

"I'm beginning to see now why you sent my father and the others to the States. If we confine Misa again…she may die."

"Yes. It's unfortunate, but what choice do we have?" L then focused his attention on a screen providing a view of the hallway outside. In minutes, Watari would emerge from the elevator. The Second Kira would be closely behind him, naturally dressed to the nines for the occasion, a black purse with bat-wing extensions swinging in the crook of her elbow.

"I-I mean, I don't—I don't want anything to happen to you either, buddy." 

Buddy. That's synonymous with "friend," isn't it? It's strange, to have someone other than Watari express concern for his welfare, let alone mean it, in her own prickly way. Light doesn't call him names every chance he gets, has been overall civil with him up until this point while still challenging him at every step like no one had before, is able to keep up in just about every conversation they have, can contribute over half into every strategy they've concocted together. Could you find two minds more ruthlessly in-sync?

But Light has never purposefully annoyed him in order to encourage him for his own sake. He hadn't sat down with him on his birthday to try forcing him to go trick-or-treating. He'd never given him a hat to wear out in the rain, or held his hand, or told him to be careful or he'd be "dog meat."

Rem hadn't said a word since he'd stopped questioning her about the notebook. She loomed in the back of the room, her head slightly hung like a lioness waiting in ambush. Neither noticed as she began to phase soundlessly into the walls.

(Well, Light may have pretended not to notice. L, on the other hand, never once took his eyes off the screen. It would be his undoing.)

"Y-you're making a mistake. Please, stop it. You're making…a mistake…" 

I know. 

He'd made yet another fatal oversight. Only when he saw the elevator open to find Watari collapsing to the floor clawing at his chest, mouth agape as Misa stood by to watch him like a patient vulture, did he realize just how much of a mistake he had made. He hadn't told Watari to pretend to have a heart attack at any point. In fact, when Watari had asked if he should, he had rejected the idea.

His voice shrivels into one belonging to the eight-year-old boy who had met the now dying man in front of him all of those years ago. "Watari…?"

Watari…you're dying right in front of me, and I can't help you. This wasn't supposed to…

…

What happened to the shinigami? Does she have something to do with this? Is this how Light…

The shock crashes down on him like a ton of bricks. The spoon clangs to the floor before him as his hand reaches for his chest.

I've made a…mistake. 

It makes his anguish that much more convincing as he topples out of his chair to the floor, a crumpled, pathetic heap at a smirking Light's feet. Only when he is certain that L is gasping his last does he judge it safe to flash his true, ugly colors.

Kira. You and I have more in common than you may be willing to acknowledge. We lie, we betray, we use, we kill. All under the premise of protecting the innocent when it's the innocent we end up hurting the most. You may have forced me into my grave. 

But I will not be going alone.


	29. Will (Part 1)

So this has been your plan, all along…

Light Yagami, of all the human beings I have met, you are surely the most disgusting of them all. 

Only one other person besides Rem saw the odd, short-lived smirk on his face that he had passed over his shoulder to her, as casually as the way he would toss an apple over his shoulder to Ryuk. But only Rem could see the malice and utter self-satisfaction that crinkled the corners of his lips. Without even speaking to each other, each knew what the other was thinking at that moment, but it was obvious who had the upper hand.

A human having a shinigami at his mercy…what a humiliating position.

Although, he was not the first one to have had her.

No, this was far graver than that. Light had ordered Misa to recover the other notebook and regain her memories, to continue killing in his place. He had purposely set her up to look suspicious, practically begging "Ryuzaki" and the task force to capture her again through her actions.

To her dismay, her lifespan had showed up over her head clear as crystal. She had done the Eye Deal again, with a nonchalant Ryuk, this time, and now only had ten years left to her name. Even that much wouldn't matter in the least, if she gets caught now…

"If they would admit to killing with the notebook, they'd receive the death penalty, or at least life in prison," said Ryuzaki, popping two panda-shaped cookies into his mouth. The sound of his chewing sounded like the cracking of bone in Rem's ears. "That's the best that they could hope for," he mumbled with his cheeks puffed out.

You're certain that I would do anything to help Misa and save her life. And at this point, the only way to save her is for me to write Ryuzaki's real name in my notebook. But if I kill him…I'll end up just like Gelus. I'll have deliberately prolonged Misa's life, and I will die, as well. Light has planned everything so that it would work out in his favor. 

Ryuzaki…or rather, L Lawliet, didn't have that long to live, anyway. 272 days. Not even a year. Not short enough for her to expect him to die naturally, though, without her intervention.

"What're you smirking about?" asked the girl sitting next to Ryuzaki. The name over her head read Erin Blogger, but the humans called her "Elin." Another alias. She still had fifty years to go. Misa had almost the same amount of years left when they had met (courtesy of Gelus, of course).

The smirk on Light's face vanished, replaced with a calm, even smile that fooled everyone in the room but her, whom he went back to ignoring. "Oh, it's nothing. This case has certainly taken an unexpected turn, but I'm confident we'll be able to bring Kira to justice, yet."

"Yeah, ditto!" cheered Touta Matsuda (forty-five years), pumping his fist into the air.

"Hm? You don't look so good, Elin. Maybe you should go rest?" His concern sounded too genuine to really be so. Rem found herself needing to hold back a snarl, unusual for a creature who was supposed to be unfeeling.

"Probably just something I ate. I did gorge on a lot of candy, yesterday. Gentlemen, include me out."

She had a hand over her stomach with a queasy, pale look on her face as she hoisted herself onto her feet, still recovering from her splurge from the night before. Sweets, humans called them, some of which she had offered her, though she did not so much as touch them. Ryuzaki ate even more of the stuff than her, just about every day.

Why did humans feel so compelled to take more than they needed, no matter how sick they knew it would make them? Shinigami killed humans for their lifespan, but this was only once in a while, mostly when it would occur to one that his or her time was almost up, which just went to show how sluggish they had become. Compared to humans, who always seemed to be on the move, always in a hurry, never at ease for long, and only at rest when their lives ended.

Maybe that was it? Humans were rarely, if ever, satisfied with what they had. Their hunger for life urged them to take more, even if it meant taking from others of their own kind. It was one of the things that had made Rem so disgusted with many of them. She had seen greed at its worst in her time with Kyosuke Higuchi, the proxy she had chosen for Light's plan. She had deemed him an easy enough person for Light to catch without his memories of the Death Note: he had the motivation, but lacked the level of cunning intelligence that his predecessor had. He couldn't even carry out his plans independently; he'd had to rely on seven equally greedy associates—or rather, blackmail them—into collaborating with him, and yet spoke to them as though he were the most superior in the circle.

As soon as he had begun talking about taking Misa as his bride and investing money into her "life insurance"—a despicable thing in and of itself, to place something as worthless as paper and coins onto something as invaluable as life—Rem had to keep reminding herself of Light's plan to still her hand from writing that fool's name in her own notebook, already. At least Light was killing "for the betterment of mankind." All Higuchi was after was money and social power.

But now she had seen Light's true colors. This wasn't about creating a gentler world, anymore. This too had become about power, the gaining of more power than a human could, or should, be entrusted with, and anyone who appeared to be in the way would be dealt with swiftly and cleanly. This included Rem, and, if she were not careful, Misa.

Erin made sure to keep a sizable distance from her as she walked past, almost glancing at her from the corner of her eye before her gaze darted towards the floor, like she were afraid Rem would attack her if she so much as looked her in the face.

Or was there something she urgently needed to say, but was afraid to share it?

While Rem had no particular affection towards the human, she also seemed to be one of the very few humans who didn't stir intense disgust within her. While she was as restless as any human, if not downright wired if her reaction to seeing her was any indication, she otherwise appeared to have not an ounce of real hatred in her body, completely incapable of mind games. Though not without her own bouts of selfishness, she seemed to genuinely care about the people around her all the same, even Ryuzaki.

In a way, she reminded Rem of Misa.

Or rather, who Misa used to be.

…

Rem and Gelus were not friends by any stretch of the word; until certain events, she didn't believe that shinigami were capable of being friends or having friends in each other, never mind with humans. The word did not exist in their common vocabulary. 

Actually, no one was Gelus's friend. He was more the butt of everyone's mockery than anything, a small dumpy thing who spent nearly all of his time peering through the many windows that opened to the human world far below. When and how his habit began, no one knew, much less cared. 

The first time she took up watching over Gelus's shoulder, the sight they beheld was one that should have repelled them from watching again. Not that shinigami were horrified of the darker goings-on of the human world, but this was certainly nothing Rem would linger around a portal to see. 

Two-thirty in the morning at a household in Osaka. The lights flickering within its windows. A mother and father, lines etched into their faces by time, worry and mounting resentment, jumping to their feet as a young woman stumbles into the den, her hair, clothes and breath reeking of a liquid chemical that humans call alcohol. They're shouting at the woman, demanding answers as to where she's been, whether she thinks that this has gone on for long enough. 

Rem can't make out the woman's exact words, her speech is too slurred. But they sound indignant and yet strangely apathetic to the anger of the other two humans. She throws a bottle at the mother's head, barely missing the loose bun on top of her head before it shatters into shards against a painting of a mountaintop. Punctures a sizeable hole in the center. 

While the conflict escalates, in a room at the end of the hall, a young girl—no more than fourteen years—ducks away from the crack in the door she's been spying through to cower in the corner beside her bed, a blanket wrapped around her bare shoulders like a shawl. She clutches the fabric in her sweating hands, her fists pressing a panda plushie close to her chest. 

"Stop it," she whispers through gritted teeth, curling in around herself. She's trembling with the urge to cry. "Please, just stop it." She repeats her plea over and over like a mantra, but no one can hear her, not over this commotion. 

Minutes pass that feel like hours (by the human world's definitions of time, at least). By the time it's all over, the woman—Kimiko Amane—is led away screaming and writhing in handcuffs into a car flashing red and blue. She would never return to this place. Only when her parents are left alone in the doorway, the mother weeping as she dabs away at the gash on the father's face (there would be more bloodshed to come, not that any of them know this), does the little girl—Misa Amane—dare to venture out, still wearing the blanket and clutching the panda. She rubs at her reddened eyes in feigned sleepiness, pretending that she has only just now woken up. She does not want to worry them any more than they already are. 

"Mommy, Daddy, what's going on? I-I thought I heard sirens…where's Kimi?" 

Her question is redundant. The looks on their faces tell her everything.

…

Gelus would be there to see Misa come home to a ransacked house and the bloodied, mangled remains of her parents about four years later, just in time to see the killer—Yoichi Tamura—leap out of the balcony with a feral grin on his face, wiping the blood from his knife on the cloth of his sack. He would be there to see Misa cry behind closed doors and put on a brave face for the public during the trial, unable to do anything to comfort her. He would be there to see her make her rise to stardom, become a believer of Kira after the mysterious death of Tamura, and of course, to see her be ambushed by Ryotaro Sakashiro, the man who was supposed to have killed her that night. Rem asked him, time and again, why he was so fascinated with the human world, for it seemed like such an ugly place to her, a place of chaos compared to the calm emptiness of their realm. Shinigami did not hurt and torment each other like humans did. They lacked the drive to do so.

Gelus, shy and soft-spoken, replied, "Not everything in it is ugly."

Indeed, he had found a sliver of beauty underneath all of the blood. Rem had never thought that he would become so attached to this beauty that he would break the rules of life and death and sacrifice himself for it, but he did.

And now here she was, in the same position.

"There is something we could try," she heard L say, watching as he hooked a finger into his mouth. "I can have Watari submit a request to say, the FBI or CIA to let us choose two convicts on death row. We can test the Death Note—"

"Ryuzaki! We can't do that!" Shuichi Aizawa scolded. "There's no point in testing it if we know the notebook's power is real."

"That's right! It's not good that you could be so willing to throw away the lives of two people like that," said Soichiro Yagami.

"The subjects would be on death row anyway, and if this were done properly, we could save many more lives," L said matter-of-factly, almost wearily.

"That may be, but after the fiasco with the FBI agents, I doubt that the organization would be up to doing something like that," said Light. A catty remark disguised as admonishment.

If Ryuzaki wants to test the 13-day rule, perhaps I can make them believe the rule is valid by killing the person who writes in the notebook after thirteen days? 

But I'd have to be there to see them, and as long as I am attached to Light, I cannot go very far...

She could just have Light Yagami killed right now and be done with it. Maybe not with her Death Note but through some other means. Turn him in to L, perhaps? He had after all mentioned that he'd get the death penalty if he was caught. But what about Misa? Wouldn't she be incriminated also? Even if she wasn't, she would be so unhappy if something happened to her beloved savior, especially if she believed the fault was her own. Rem knew from her first three days in confinement, from the way she had sobbed and begged Rem to kill her, that Misa would choose to die for his sake, and surely Light, arrogant Light, had known this when he set this plan into motion.

If she died, who would be there to safeguard Misa from his wrath? Ryuk would certainly never step up to the task. Misa was capable of defending herself as long as she had her own Death Note; she had spoken so cheerfully about it before. But that was before she saw Kira's face and fell in love with him in almost the same way Gelus had, with her.

…

Rem had given her Gelus's notebook after his death because she'd thought she deserved it. Gelus would've wanted her to have it, something to protect herself with so no one could hurt her anymore. When they had met, Misa had even briefly mistaken her for an angel—whatever that was—rather than a shinigami.

Now she began to wonder: had giving Misa a Death Note been a mistake?

Had Misa never met her and had the Death Note, she would've never become the Second Kira, never would've met Kira and fallen in love with him, and wouldn't be in this danger that she is in now.

But that wasn't all. While Misa had been grieving before, asking herself what kind of life this was that she and her family existed in where the bad guys got away with everything and the good died in such ugly ways, something truly began to change in her when the Death Note had fallen into her hands. She was sweet and energetic enough with others on the surface, but how much did people really matter to her, anymore? Little, if not nothing at all. She held an entire TV station staff hostage, killed innocent policemen without hesitation. All to meet her own ends. To meet Kira himself, to thank him for punishing the man who'd slaughtered her parents, to see if she could help him with creating the new world.

Not even her own life seemed to matter to her, anymore.

…

"So…if he'd never fallen in love with this girl, he'd still be alive today, wouldn't he?" 

"That's right." 

After a moment of thick silence, Misa's smile became dreamy as she looked down at her Death Note—Gelus's Death Note—pressed to her chest, clutching it a bit tighter as though it had become that much more precious to her. "I had no idea…I thought it was luck, but it turned out to be a shinigami who saved my life that day." 

"Yes. Gelus loved you enough to die for you." Rem pointed a long, skeletal finger at the book in Misa's arms. "So that Death Note is now yours to keep."

Misa flopped down onto her bed, her eyes shut to the world as she pondered over the fairy tale she had just heard. "I see. So, for a shinigami to die, they have to love a human enough to want to prevent their death from happening. What a beautiful way to kill…" 

Rem cocked her head to the side, doubtful of the logic behind Misa's words. It had never occurred to her that killing could be anything beyond a means to prolong her life. "Beautiful? To kill out of love? How so?" 

"Because it's different," said Misa, a bit matter-of-factly for her. "When most people kill or are killed, it's usually violent. It's ugly. But to kill or be killed because you love someone…that's not ugly at all. It's a peaceful way to go, it's lovely. Better than out of bad luck or greed. Life is hard, ugly enough as it is, and everyone has to die eventually. Misa knows this better than most. So why not die in a lovely way? That's how Misa would want to die." 

Rem didn't know what to say. She personally saw it as a cruel way to die, having one's love for someone used against them, but what did she know? 

"So what about you, Rem? Are you in love with Misa? Be honest." 

From just hearing these words, Rem started to wonder whether she should regret having told Misa this story. "Just forget it," she said. "You think you can kill me that easily?" 

Misa giggled. "Oops, you saw through that?" She turned her head to stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. "Misa's so happy to have such an interesting story to tell Kira. But Misa wonders…if he knows, too? How to K-I-L-L a god of death?"

…

Despite Rem's request to never repeat the secret to killing a shinigami, that ended up being one of the first secrets Misa shared with Light when they had met face-to-face, and Rem had been powerless to stop her.

Somewhere in her heart of hearts—assuming that she had one to speak of—Rem could not deny that she was as important to Misa as Misa was to Light. Which was to say, not at all. Light did not love Misa, and Misa did not love Rem. All she was to her was leverage, a means to wrap him around her finger and to let him wrap herself around his.

Misa, while still beautiful on the outside, had in a sense degraded into something as ugly on the inside as the people who had hurt her throughout her life. So why did Rem not find her disgusting? Because she had seen who she was before shinigami and the Death Note entered her life? Because she believed that a being capable of giving herself completely to someone else did not deserve to die?

Because she loved her? Rem didn't know.

Rem watched from the shadows as Erin argued with him, the two of them still dripping with rainwater. Somehow she too had pieced together what Light was up to, and was begging L not to go after Misa, not to test the fake rules of the notebook, surely there had to be another way. She looked ready to hit him, but instead dropped the towels and bolted in the opposite direction.

"Miss Crocker! Where are you going?"

"To do something that you won't! I don't know how the hell you got the others on board with this but those notebooks are toast, even if I have to toast the motherfuckers myself!"

Such ugly words, but she was offering a chance to save Misa, and oddly enough Light too. Were humans capable of such compassion after all?

L wouldn't have it. Rem watched him chase her in almost the same way Ryotaro had gone after Misa, tackle her like a panther overpowering a ram, pin her against the wall, knock her unconscious. She might have thought he'd killed her had her name and lifespan disappeared, but they remained over her head unchanged.

Though Light's enemy, he was no different than he was. He was not looking out for Misa's interests either. Only his own.

Higuchi. Light. L. None cared for Misa any more than they would for a useful tool.

So that's it, then. There's no bargaining with him. He's going to send that human Quillish Wammy for her. I have no choice. I must kill them both, for Misa's sake. 

Rem became filled with a profound, fiery and terrible rage that she hadn't before this known she was capable of, and reappeared before L in the monitor room to watch events unfold, waiting for the right time to make her move. She refused to look Light in the eye the entire time.

She didn't know of this justice that Light and L spoke of, either. Justice, from what she's heard, was supposedly about getting what one deserved. But who deserved what for what? And who had the authority to decide this?

Did she deserve to die for ruining Misa's life, or for failing her duties as a shinigami?

…

Light Yagami…he has surpassed even a shinigami. And to think that Misa is in love with such a man. 

The desire to die is a blatant contradiction to the most basic instinct of all living things, of plants, animals, humans, even shinigami, who exist on the barren border between life and death. How does this desire emerge: when one realizes that life itself is not worth her will, or when she realizes that there is something more important than her own life?

Maybe she and Misa were not so different? Misa clung to Light because out of everyone, he'd had yet to let her down. He had put meaning back into her life, promised her that there would be something greater than this life that she knew if she worked alongside him for it.

And in an odd way…perhaps Misa had unknowingly done the same for Rem, and for Gelus before her? Was this a good or bad thing? Rem didn't know, and it was too late for it to matter now. As soon as the last panicky letter had been scribbled into the page, Rem wasted no time tearing open a fusebox to sever a live power cord with her fingertip, unconcerned for its purpose except for the one tiny spark she needed to set the book ablaze.

Know this, Light Yagami. This is my Death Note, and you shall never claim it. I will not let you use my Death Note against her. 

Misa…whatever you do, please, be happy in the time you have left. 

The swell of foreign yet vaguely familiar emotion began to disintegrate, crumbling at her feet into dust and sand, like how tears rolled down human cheeks, with the rest of her. Strangely, a part of her expected this to be what humans would call painful; it had looked painful when it happened to Gelus, or to the thousands of people whose hearts stopped beating under Light's pen or Misa's.

But no. This was more like falling, like how it felt when she landed on the ground after flying for so long (goodness knew that she had flown this plane of being for quite some time).

In her last moments of existence, she felt…free.

On the other side of the wall, L fell at his enemy's feet like an opossum.


	30. Human

So here he is again. Another case closed and filed away into history. And yet, it's different somehow.

This is more than mere disappointment that the game, possibly the greatest game he's ever played, is over. Even though his opponent fell first, he feels…heavy. The weight of profound defeat lays on his shoulders, adding an extra curve into his already poor posture. He curls up tighter into himself, hugging his legs, resting his head on his knees, to keep from falling flat under it.

He glances at Watari smiling at him from inside the photo next to him. Did I do the right thing, he vaguely wonders, almost asking himself out loud before realizing how pointless that would be. Watari can't share his input anymore, or ask what flavor ice cream he fancies today or deliver messages from those asking for his assistance in another dead-ending case. He'd killed him, through one little oversight. Sent him to fetch Misa Amane and to his demise. Light and the shinigami had dealt the fatal blow, but L had offered him up.

I didn't mean to have you killed. I am so sorry, Watari. 

Technically, he's completed the objective. He's won the war. Kira is dead, executed by him personally. But, when he looks at the costs, was this victory worth it?

At its core, war isn't so much about who's right as it is, who's left.

Watari and Light are dead, at the cost of thousands of lives that can't be returned despite the closure of their killer dying (if there is any actual closure to be had from it). Light had died in his shellshocked father's arms believing that he'd done the right thing in undertaking the role of Kira, like a martyr-turned-saint. Like Christ cradled in Mary's arms while Judas Iscariot vanishes out of sight to dangle by a noose.

An odd comparison, given that he's always found the Christian faith (and most religions following that vein) rather absurd. But maybe that's why the image comes to mind?

He had failed in showing him that he was wrong (although it's rather hard to show someone that they're wrong when your ideology is similar to his). Not only that, but he's lost a worthy adversary, someone who could've been a great asset to him and the realm of law enforcement, had neither of them been so tunnel-sighted. Perhaps even going so far as to be a friend of his…

Misa, a shrieking mess on her way to the hospital, will likely forget him, and once they've conducted the funeral rites for him out of obligation to a fallen comrade so may the task force. Or if they don't, at least they'll want to forget him. He wouldn't fault them for it; why should they waste their grief on someone who'd used them to destroy one of their own, never mind if he truly was the monster he had suspected him to be all along?

Aiber and Wedy and the rest of his associates are no longer under his thumb. With Kira gone, they are free to run as much amok as they please. He wishes them all nothing less than the best.

Once he's gone, someone will have to take over for him as the next L, most likely one of his successors from the House. Maybe both, if a miracle happens sometime in the future. It's unfortunate that he won't be there to see how they'll carry on his legacy…then again, a part of him doesn't necessarily want to see someone else take over what was once his, taking on all of the burdens and expenses that come with the territory.

And Erin…she hates him. The one who may have come the closest he'd ever have to a real friend, a woman he'd unexpectedly grown to—love? Is that the word for how he feels? The thing that made Misa so obsessively devoted to Light, the thing that could bring a shinigami to its knees? Here he's been, convinced that it would never happen, now wondering if it has, and if so, wishing that it hadn't—hates him for everything he's worth.

He's sad but not surprised. He'd known what he was getting into as soon as he'd decided to take action. It'd be much more shocking if she, or any of them for that matter, didn't hate him after everything that's happened.

No. What's more surprising to him is how affected he is by all of this. It hadn't terribly bothered him before, what people thought of him or his policies outside of being aware that some would want to track him down and destroy him (he had Coil, Deneuve, "Ryuzaki," and all his other rivals-cum-aliases to thank for keeping that from happening yet).

But, perhaps that was because hiding behind a monitor and speaker, working vicariously through agents and moles like a puppet master dangling the strings above the stage, had made it easy to maintain that disconnect? Before the Kira case, Watari had been the sole source of any meaningful human contact in his life for as long as he could or at least cared to remember.

(He wonders if Light had ever had the chance to see for himself any of the people he'd executed die since beginning his work as Kira, or any of the sorrow he'd caused as a result; if he had, would he have still had an easy time continuing his use of the notebook?)

Odd, how he hadn't much minded the howling emptiness that surrounds him on all sides as long as it remained at bay through the squeak of rolling pastry cart wheels, or the soft clink of a china tea set, or the baffled muttering of his co-workers scattered throughout the room, working towards the same cause, even when they'd stop to whisper critical remarks about his way of doing things.

It seems that one doesn't know or feel the gnawing silence of true loneliness until he's had a taste of companionship, real or not, and then lost it, through his own foolishness or otherwise. Salty and bitter like the tears soaking her cheek, no amount of sugar can completely wipe the taste out of his mouth. Not that that stops him from eating.

Perhaps like Light, he too had deluded himself for the longest time into believing he was something he wasn't. Light had thought himself as a god, while he'd preferred to think himself as a machine, more powerful than even the Internet, unfettered by those things that make humans as flawed as they are. Machines are objective, logical, efficient, infallible.

(They also can't function without outside support, and they eventually break down and become obsolete.)

He concludes once and for all when he goes to shower the following morning—the first time he's had a bathroom to himself in months—and wiggles out of his clothes to find still-tender bruises on his shoulders and around his collarbone where she'd grabbed him, yellowing bruises on his shins where she'd kicked him, splotches of mud and leaked motor oil against ice and snow, that he must be human. Machines don't bruise, and gods don't bleed.

The deeper wounds are the ones that can't be seen on the skin.

Enduring the pain, he exhales through his nostrils as he carefully takes off and places aside the broken watch Light had left behind, its hour and second hands gone and minute hand permanently frozen over 0:18 (Light's age in years when he'd died).

…

The pain isn't ever-lasting. It will eventually yellow and fade away with the bruises; he'll just numb it with a bit of ice on regular intervals until then. Erin put up more of a fight than she thought. He just happens to have a high pain tolerance. For physical pain, at least.

He doesn't expect her to hate him forever, either. He knows better than that. It's not in her nature to bear a grudge for such a long time. In fact, he can see her right now, trying to make sense of their last encounter, and regretting all the things she'd said to him, accurate as they were. She's the type that will, no matter what she says, save the villain rather than let him lie in the bed he made. He must confess that he has used bleeding hearts like hers to his advantage himself, a few times.

He also, however, doesn't expect her to truly forgive him right away. It would be unreasonable to expect any of them to recover, right away. They might not even start to consider forgiveness until long after he's dead, when it won't matter to him, either way.

I'd die alone, even if you or anyone else stayed with me, by virtue of the fact that I'm the one who's dying. But you…you still have so much time ahead of you. 

Why waste any more of it on someone who doesn't deserve it?

These were his thoughts as he listened to the footsteps of a watery-eyed Matsuda leading her out of the room. He doesn't hate her for saying the things she had; compared to what he'd done to her, it had been rather minor retribution. And that doesn't count the grief she was already experiencing over earlier losses. Besides, how can he hate someone for their honesty, something he's gone through most of his life without? As a consummate liar, even he knows when it's useless to deny the truth, when it's glaring you in the face.

When he'd seen Misa pinning her to the floor in front of Light like a human sacrifice as he'd tried to write her and Mr. Yagami's names down in the notebook, indifferent to her cries for them to realize what they were doing (How could you, how could you kill Watari?), it had taken almost every ounce of self-control he'd had to stand back and tune it out—a highly unusual phenomenon in itself—rather than rush out there to kick him square in the jaw, beat him until his face was as blood-red as his eyes. Mangle it until it matched the hideous personality it had always disguised.

Perhaps the only true restraint here was the knowledge that the notebook in his hands was fake; nothing would happen even when Light finished the entries.

She was right. For a moment he rather enjoyed seeing Light being humiliated so thoroughly, more than he should have. Now he's gone.

Though his earlier actions had established that he wasn't above killing law enforcement in spite of claiming to be on their side, this act proved to everyone who'd been there to witness that Kira would kill even total innocents, the ones he'd claimed he was doing this for in the first place. Having lost sight of himself, Light no longer cared what—or who—he'd have to break to realize his dreams of godhood. He might have gone so far as to kill his own sister and mother, had he been allowed to continue at that rate: a fact that may haunt Mr. Yagami in private for a long time coming, if not the rest of his life.

I'm sorry for everything you and your family have had to go through, Mr. Yagami. I'm sorry I didn't save him. 

Misa, though shocked to the point of tears about his decision to kill his father, could not be swayed enough to turn on him. She owed him, loved him, needed him too much to. He had given her meaning to a life she would've otherwise considered without worth. For avenging her family, she'd kill for him, not bothering to stop and consider that some of their victims had had families of their own that she had deprived them of in doing what she had thought was justified.

…Although he couldn't say he was much better. The difference between them was that Kira was fortunate enough to die seemingly without guilt. Misa, though still alive, will enjoy the same lack of remorse. After all, how can one feel guilty over something they can't remember ever doing? There's no telling what she'll do now that Light is gone though, and she finds herself alone and afraid.

Perhaps she'll be punished after all, if not by the law of the land?

...

That doesn't mean he hopes that she'll hurt herself oddly enough. Even if she was a dangerous criminal and a traitor, he couldn't wish that on her, or anyone. Her life, all life is too precious to just be given up on and wasted like that.

He'd hoped it wouldn't have to reach that point, the point of no return, letting any feelings finally shine through the cracks in the wall he'd painstakingly built around himself for his safety and that of the people around him. Or if he did, at least that she wouldn't have an answer to it. It would've been bad for him no matter what she thought of it. Whether she returned the feelings or not.

But that compulsion had swelled up from the depths, that thing that urged him to get the last word no matter what the situation, when she'd finished tearing his head off, her every word splashing his face like fire and venom and spit, gasping for air between sobs. Sometimes the best—and the hardest—way for one to get the last word is to say, "I'm sorry."

I'm sorry you were caught in the middle of our game.

A part of him doesn't quite want to believe that she reciprocated whatever it is he feels. She'd been here against her will for so long, it's completely possible that she's developed Stockholm syndrome towards him, subconsciously bonding with him so as to increase her own chances for survival. Six months (technically it's been five) is far more than enough time for that to happen. Why else would she go from demanding to be sent home to pleading to stay with him until he died? Why else would she go from calling him names to calling him "a friend?"

Writing off her affections as Stockholm syndrome sounds too simplistic, though, doesn't it? Imagining that that's all it is would make it that much easier to let her go, that much easier to make her cry one last time and drive her away, like it used to be. He'd put her through too much already; letting her stay for his death would have done nothing but cause them both more unnecessary suffering.

Though she had never actually said good-bye to him, he could feel her staring at him as she walked away, dumbfounded, as he'd already had his back towards her. He would miss her, more than he'd ever admit to anyone, but he wants her home where she belongs, with her family and people who can and will help her heal. He doesn't want her to look back. He's made his choice, he's finished. He will join Light in Nothingness, so intertwined were their fates. (And maybe it's what they deserve.) The world will keep turning without them, whether they'd like it to or not.

A part of him is strangely glad of that fact.

She should be looking forward, towards the future, towards happiness. The same goes for all of them. He wants them all to find happiness again. Mr. Yagami, Mogi, Aizawa, Matsuda, Wedy, Aiber, even Misa…

He smiles. Truly this case has left him soft in the center. As soft as the sweet bean paste oozing out of his snack as he takes another bite post-shower. Light's watch gleams in the corner of his eye underneath the fluorescent light, broken as it is, like its owner.

He'd told her to live her life to the fullest extent possible; whether she does this or not is out of his hands, but he has faith in her. He himself still has eighteen days. Now he needs to make the most out of the time he has left as the current L. That's how he's going to die peacefully. It seems like a futile effort; cases will pop up all over after he's breathed his last. Crime and suffering, like justice and peace, or any idea in general, will outlast the ones who fight against it, or for it. A detail that Light had surely overlooked when he'd discovered the Death Note and decided to recreate the world to better fit his ideals and rule over it as god.

Then again, perhaps that's what makes this world so…special? No matter how gifted he is, one can't change the world alone. Watari had told him that, even as he taught him the importance of autonomy. It's unfortunate that it's taken losing so much to finally take those words to heart.

As long as there continues to be people in the world who believe in the strength of kindness and what's right and live according to it, there will always be hope, long after one is gone.

All anyone needs is a chance.

He sits down in front of the whirring computer with a fresh chocolate bar in one hand, pausing to adjust Watari's picture so he faces him, can watch and encourage him through his smile. He trails a finger across the border of the frame, noting the dry frailness of the old comic strips wrapped around it.

Taking a snap off of the corner, he flips through a binder four inches thick with a case study. Seems like a relatively easy one, compared to the one he's just closed. The quicker he'll be able to jump to the next study, and the one after that...

Loss, grief, falling short is part of life. Of being human.

But it's no excuse for idleness.


	31. Duty

Ever since Light's death, Matsuda, of all people, has undertaken the role of a rock in the task force. He's unsure as to whether this has happened out of guilt, out of obligation, or out of fear of losing the others—and possibly himself—to despair. It could very well be a combination of the three, but he doesn't bother to investigate into it. Some things should be investigated, some things should be left be, especially if the answers are unattainable or useless. The hard part is learning how to tell the difference.

It had begun, not so surprisingly, as an order, issued to him by "Ryuzaki." After they had taken Watari and Light to the morgue, he had returned later to check on Erin, worried that her injury would require a trip to the hospital or worse. He'd been so numb, his vision so sore and blurry with tears that he'd had to take the subway back to headquarters. He knows well enough not to get behind a wheel when he's like this.

Fortunately, almost miraculously, she had only taken the accidental shot to the arm, and contrary to her wailing, the wound had been superficial. The least serious of the casualties in this damn case. So Ryuzaki had reported. But she'd had to be sedated, he'd told him, so it wouldn't have been a good idea to see her, for the time being.

"She will be fine, Mr. Matsuda," Ryuzaki had assured him, his tone distinctly softer and flatter than Matsuda was used to, for reasons both within and beyond his understanding (as though there aren't many things that are beyond it, then and now). "I may ask you to escort her to the airport, so you may see her then. In the meantime, I believe that it's best that you stay with Mr. Yagami. Right now, I'd imagine that he and his family need all the support they can get."

Some things should be questioned, while some should be let go. He has duties to fulfill, even if he doesn't get it right the first time (as is often the case for him). Ryuzaki couldn't have been more right about the Chief. Since the funeral, he's had to go on indefinite leave, and not completely by choice. A policeman in his state simply can't be trusted with a gun.

He's since made it his duty to be there for the Yagami family, and beyond. At times, he wishes he had someone besides himself to lament to about why he almost can't look Sachiko or Sayu in the eyes, red and swollen with grief, without wanting to cry, "I'm sorry I had to shoot your son and brother because he'd tried to kill us." Someone besides himself who bothers to check on Misa-Misa as she continues to wither within the confines of the psychiatric unit, a hollow shell of her former vibrant self without a clue on how she'd even gotten there and only current desire being to go wherever Light and her family have disappeared to. Someone besides himself to ask why things have turned out the way they are today, and whether Light had been right to call them "useless fools."

…

Then he remembers. He's not alone. Chief, Aizawa, Mogi, Ide…they share this burden together. No one of them must bear the most weight. They're all asking the same questions, but none of them can find answers. All they can do is keep one another together with their bare hands: one hand on each other's shoulders, the other over their mouths as they evade the prodding and poking of the press regarding Kira, whose death has been decided to remain a guarded secret.

Ryuzaki, on the other hand, has no one. He is to die in about two weeks, but must wait alone. With Watari gone, there's no one at headquarters to wait with him. Or, by the looks of the monitor room when he steps inside, clean up after him, either.

He sits in his trademark eagle-perch in front of a computer, as he always has, with disheveled molehills of files and binders on either side of him, the desk littered with empty plates and crumbs. This makes Matsuda wonder briefly if this is the same Ryuzaki they had been working with for almost a year; the Ryuzaki he'd known had crossed him as a sort of neat-freak. Perhaps he's tossing his files around like this when he's finished with them because he's stuck in old habits? He'd had someone to organize for him, and a part of him has not yet accepted that these files are never getting put away for him again. Denial. Or is it acceptance?

It makes Matsuda ill. This entire attitude of Ryuzaki's makes him ill, perhaps even more than the Chief's pained withdrawn gaze, the lonely emptiness in Misa's, or the helpless rage in Erin's. This man has lost everything for this case and yet seems to have skipped over all the stages of grief and carries on like this is business as usual.

…

Considering the circumstances, maybe he has the right idea? It just doesn't seem proper to him, though. Then again, with all due respect, Ryuzaki is the total antonym for "proper."

"What is it, Mr. Matsuda?" he asks without taking his eyes off of the computer screen. Like he's been coming in here every day to bother him, even though this is his first time back here in this room since the end of the case.

As someone who tends to say the first thing on his mind, especially to combat the silence, Matsuda stammers, "I…I've brought you something to eat." He steps carefully over abandoned papers, the box of strawberry daifuku held out in front of him at slightly less than arm's length. He places the box a suitable distance away from Ryuzaki's elbow, out of the way but easy to reach, before stepping around Ryuzaki as he reaches into it to fish out a pink treat.

"How are Mr. Yagami and the others?" he inquires between bites, as though following up on the order he had given him.

Matsuda wishes he can say "All right," or "fine," or something along those lines, but what a bald-faced lie that would be. It's going to take much more time than a few weeks before any of them can begin to throw around the term "all right" again. Anyone who even remotely knows Ryuzaki would know better than to lie to him. Ryuzaki is a specialist with lies: how to detect them, as well as tell them.

"Barely hanging in there," he answers, voice starting to quiver.

When Ryuzaki does not follow this up with a response, Matsuda loses it. As much as he is allowed to, anyway. He snatches up a document in trembling hands just as Ryuzaki stretches out a lazy hand for it, while the other holds the daifuku to his mouth.

"Y-you really should take better care of yourself, Ryuzaki," he hisses, though he's not generally the type who hisses at anyone, much less Ryuzaki. Actually, he's only vaguely aware for the moment that he's barking out an order. Touta Matsuda, the underdog, barking orders, at the world's greatest detective, no less. What a laugh. He's always been more of the type to follow orders rather than give them.

Not only that, but it's a bit too late to give Ryuzaki advice on how to live better. But he can't stand the idea of his dying with just a big squalor around him for company.

Is this what Erin had worried herself to tears about?

He wants to ask him why he's wasting his last days working, when he could be out living it up. Globe-trotting, even dating! Anything but work. But in a rare show of prudence, he holds his tongue. Ryuzaki is not that kind of person. He wants to die as he lives, doing what he's been living for all this time. What is he missing out on except everything else?

He and Light were so similar in that respect, in many respects.

Ryuzaki gives no dry, snappy comeback as Matsuda is used to. He simply tries to pull the document out of his clenched hands, only to have Matsuda yank it out of his reach. Ryuzaki won't get up from out of his seat, or even give Matsuda much more than lethargic glances. He sucks the powder off the fingers on his other hand as this nonsense of grabbing and yanking continues for a minute more, maybe two.

That's when he notices the broken watch on his wrist.

Light's watch.

So that's what had happened to it. Maybe he is grieving, in his own way. Without tears.

"I just can't see how you can stand to work like this," he chokes, too overcome with emotion to care that he, a grown man, is teetering on the verge of crying, especially in front of someone he looks up to and whose approval he has constantly sought after. He realizes that everyone who'd chosen to get involved in the Kira case was staking their lives, but this doesn't mean that he hadn't wanted to prevent any more deaths, if it could be helped.

Some things matter, in the end. Some things don't.

As though he'd been reading his mind, Ryuzaki mumbles between bites on another daifuku, "If you feel absolutely compelled to clean up, Mr. Matsuda, I won't stop you. You may dispose of all of those files; I won't be needing them anymore. But please don't stay for much longer than that. You are still needed elsewhere…"

Does he honestly want to be alone when his time comes? Or is he messing with him, as he tends to do to his co-workers?

He reaches out to pick up a picture frame to save from Matsuda's impromptu "spring-cleaning." A photo of Watari, in the little picture frame that Erin had made for him not too long ago. He stares into the old gentleman's smiling face, his own expression unchanging as he sucks up more powder off of his fingers.

"…Were there any problems at the airport?"

He's a little surprised that Ryuzaki would ask about something that had happened a while ago, when he's usually the one on top of things. Still, mentioning the airport hashes up images of her holding on to each and every member of the task force as tightly as she could, almost to the point of snapping their backbones—the ones who had accompanied her, anyway. No amount of back-rubbing on his part could stop her sobbing. She had been deathly quiet in the car when they were pulling out of the garage; only at the boarding gate had she exploded for one last time.

He doesn't know what exactly had happened between her and Ryuzaki, whom she had almost never gotten along with, before they'd shown up to get her. She wouldn't tell him much, only that he'd have to come back here to tell Ryuzaki that she was sorry. "You can't just let him live out the rest of his time by himself. You just can't." 

"…She boarded her flight without a hitch," he answers slowly. "She was…pretty distraught, though."

He pauses to hope that she is home with her family and making it out of this better than they are here.

"I see," the detective mutters, not taking his eyes off of the picture.

Matsuda bends down and begins to gather whatever files and binders that are on the floor. For the many wrongs he wants to right but can't, there are two that he can at least try to. The first would be to clean up this mess. This would be the second. It's his duty, as a police officer and as a friend.

Hoping to whoever's out there that Ryuzaki would know what he'd be talking about, he echoes her words quietly with slight hesitation, "She's sorry. She—she wanted me to tell you that she's sorry. Oh, and...you're still friends."

The temporary silence that falls between them is almost too much for Matsuda to bear. He fends it off with the shuffling of discarded papers as he anxiously awaits Ryuzaki's reply. He hates silence, a sound he now equates with death and pain and despair and all of those things that he wants to fix but can't and so fuel his sense of uselessness. He can barely follow orders as they were intended. Light had tried to fix the world, and what had happened to him? He wound up losing everything, too, didn't he?

Finally, Ryuzaki replies, "I regret to inform you, Mr. Matsuda, that your coming to tell me that was an unnecessary waste of your time."

…

He expresses his gratitude for everything—stingy as he is with the sentiment, especially when it comes to Matsuda—in but three simple words: "But thank you."


	32. Will (Part 2)

The nightmares don't affect her the way they used to, anymore. In the beginning, they used to jolt her upright, electrocuting her back into mundane reality (not that reality was much different from the dreams she awoke from). Sometimes she would scream, to compensate for the fact that she couldn't within her dream and to lighten the weight crushing her chest.

Oftentimes, her shriek would not be met with an answer. No one would come to her room to ask her what was wrong, to wrap her up in their arms as she settled back down in a soft burst of tears. No one has since her parents died.

Or have they? Misa can't remember, and what would it matter if she did? They aren't here now.

Nowadays, she doesn't bother to scream when a nightmare comes on. She doesn't even spring up in bed. They come so frequently now that it's almost silly to react so melodramatically to them. Waking up from a nightmare is like coming up to the water's surface gasping for air, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling as her vision tries to accommodate to the darkness. Matted gold tresses cling to her face and the nape of her neck; she's so wet and smelly with sweat, she may as well have been underwater, this whole time.

Being the award-winning (or at least nominated) actress that she is, she's gotten good at hiding her night frights. She could lay there under the covers in the throes of visions of blood and disembodied squeals of agony, and no one would know the difference. She'd turn to face the window, to watch the dark blue of the night turn purple and pink with dawn through the crack in the blinds as she caught her breath.

Another day. Another day like the one before, and the one that will follow. She's still warm and pink with life, but can feel her insides rotting slowly, slowly, just a little more each morning, each evening.

Misa always hated monotony.

This room is not her own, hasn't been for the past two, three weeks? Misa has lost track of the days since they dropped her here, after catching her trying to drop herself off the top floor of a building.

It feels as though bits of her mind have been bleached out, the colors, the images underneath the white forever hidden from her. Things that she can't help but feel she's supposed to remember, but can't and won't. This used to scare her. Kimiko did that to herself all the time with booze, so she could forget about being depressed. She hasn't seen her since who knows when.

Light. He still hasn't come to see her, hold her, tell her that everything will be okay. He never will, either. He can't because he's gone. Collapsed in front of everyone, in front of her, clutching at his chest and howling in agony. Mr. and Mrs. Yagami no longer have a son, and for Sayu, no big brother. Kira had killed him. Somehow he had tracked him down and out of everyone in their group, he'd picked him out for his next sacrifice. Watari, too. Before Light's death, she had had the chance to see him collapse as soon as he had stepped out of the elevator. He had brought her back to headquarters to see Light and company.

But how could that be? Higuchi was Kira, and he had died several days before then. Could it have been Ryuzaki's…or rather, L's doing? Being L and Kira at the same time, hired to hunt yourself and having someone else take the rap for it…what could be better?

No. As creepy and shady as he was, he didn't seem like the type to just go out and kill people. People, especially criminals, were too useful to him to want to take on what Kira had tried to do. He was not the crazy vigilante type that blindly shot people he considered bad; he wanted to catch them in the act, first. And anyway, he's dead, too. For all of his audacity, even L was a mortal, after all. A mortal whose heart could be broken as easily as anyone else's, whose life could be stolen from him just as swiftly as anyone's.

It's amazing, how quick life can just slip out of her hands. To think that every time she blinks, someone in the world somewhere is drawing their last breath. Doesn't matter who they were, what they did, who loved them, whether they deserved it. It's terrifying. It's fascinating. It's motivating.

Why had she tried to jump? She's not sure. The urge had come to her as effortlessly as the urge to scratch an itch. A bad itch. It's a bad itch. It's wrong to want to die, she's been told all her life, despite the fact that death will come for everyone one day. It's like voluntarily holding your breath when sooner or later you will have to start breathing again.

She sits up in bed with a pillow in her arms, her chin resting on top of it. The only scenario that makes a gram of sense to her is—

…

Maybe L had been right all along? That Light really was Kira, and she the Second Kira? She doesn't know where they could've gotten the power to kill all of those people, nor does she know why she can't remember ever using this power, why she no longer has this power (she knows this much because criminals have stopped dying since that day, no matter how much she wants otherwise), or what could have possibly gone wrong to have had things end up like they are now, but of all the dim, broken thoughts floating around in her head, this one seems to glow the brightest.

She reaches deep inside herself, but can find no guilt over her imagined crimes. Is this a good or bad thing? Well, it wasn't as though her victims hadn't deserved what had come to them. Yet…

The plain and simple truth was, no one could feel guilt's sting when they couldn't remember doing what they were guilty of. This was what motivated people, like Kimiko or Tamura, to get drunk or high at any cost. So they could forget about how rotten they were and how ugly life was.

…

What if Erin and the task force were right? Maybe the two Kiras really had been no different than the criminals they slew? Misa had thought Tamura a monster for killing her parents and displaying nary a sliver of remorse over it, yet now here she sat with blood on her own hands (she can almost smell the warm metallic aroma on her fingers), no idea how it had gotten there and no guilt over its presence.

But it was different when it came to Kira, she reasoned. Kira killed to protect those who could not protect themselves. He guaranteed justice that the legal system failed to bring her and so many others. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good, and those "sacrifices" were barely worth tears to shed for, anyway, in her humble opinion.

She used to think that that would be a dream come true, to be working side by side with the one who'd avenged her mother and father, who doubled as her lover, in creating a better world, ruling together as god and goddess. But now…

Where had their work gotten them? Her god had left her, in spite of her best efforts to make him stay, and the world at large. Society is rotting again, like a once beautiful cake left to the open air to spoil and fester. And she is just as rotten as the rest of it, no matter how much she dresses herself up, no matter how peppy and colorful of a front she puts up. L had spared her. Why would he? Why would they let her live, the one who'd killed Ukita, one of them, one of Aizawa's closest friends? They should've let her die with Light, let her be with her parents.

She trembles with a paralyzing cocktail of fear, shame, rage, grief and loneliness. To feel the way she does is the only way she knows she's still alive, but now there's no use for them. She never wants to feel again. She wants to be somewhere else, where her loved ones are. Somewhere where there is peace; she won't get that here.

Stop. As long as they think I'm gonna kill myself, I'll never get out of here. Misa rubs at her eyes, this time without worry of ruining her mascara. I'm an actress. It shouldn't take that much effort to trick these idiots into thinking I'm normal again. It might take a while, but it'll be worth it when they let me go. Then, when that happens—

The creak of the door's hinges breaks her train of thought.

Instinct prompts her to shield her face, immediately putting up a pleasant, coy front that feels oh so fake to her. "Hey there, haven't you heard of knocking? Hold on, Misa hasn't put on her face, yet!"

The door quickly swings back until it's ajar. A tired voice mutters from behind it, "Ah. Sorry. I really should have knocked. I can wait."

Recognition jolts up her spine. That voice…is that…? 

No. It can't be…

Misa curls in tighter around herself as she wiggles on her bottom so she faces the door. Her breath hitches in her throat. It can't be. It just can't be. What would ever bring her back here to her? Maybe she's still asleep, and this is another dream? Another nightmare?

Her name rolls off her tongue, weak and thick. It leaves a strong, bitter aftertaste in her mouth like wasabi. She never liked wasabi, though she had always loved it. "K-Kimi?"

The door creaks open a little, revealing a woman's eye, dull and hazel and almond-shaped. It looks like her sister's. It blinks at her, adjusting to the light, or lack thereof, in the room. "Hi, Misa. M—may I come in?"

Misa doesn't know what to say. The little girl in her had expected Kimiko to come barging into the room, tipsy as a drinking bird with a hair-trigger temper. This Kimiko is asking if she can come in, completely sober. At least, so far she sounds sober.

Before she can think over her words, they escape her lips, half-timid, half-hostile. "I don't know. Can you?" Her fists clench against her breast, white and tingling with the lack of circulation.

There is a long, an unbearably long pause, before the door swings open, and somehow the woman who steps in looks like her dear big sister, and at the same time doesn't. This Kimiko's face looks washed out, her gaze distant. What's up with her right eye? It's still and non-reactive. Eyes aren't supposed to look like that. Her clothes are slightly wrinkled but clean, and they seem to hang off of her. This Kimiko has a white scarf tied around her head, her hair, dark and short and choppy, springing out from under the hem in feathery tufts. In her hand, a cane supports her weight. A soft, somewhat sheepish, somewhat hurt smile is woven into her thin lips.

This Kimiko doesn't look like she can, or wants to, cut up her face like she had their father's, or otherwise hurt her.

The woman looks about the room, too absentmindedly for Misa to believe that this is in fact the sister she used to know. When she had been sober, anyway. "There's a lot of colorful stuff in your room…"

She must be talking about the balloon and plushies and flowers and cards tacked to the bulletin board by the sink. Couldn't she see that for herself? "Y-yeah. They're get-well presents, mostly from fans of mine."

"Wow. You got all this from your fans? They must really miss you."

Maybe they do. But who do they really miss: their darling Misa-Misa, or the real Misa Amane?

"Couldn't you tell that by just looking? Is something wrong with your eyes, or what?" she asks, half out of sarcasm, half out of apprehension.

Kimiko hobbles in across the threshold by a few feet, and Misa can't help but notice the limp in her left leg. What's happened to this woman? The sister she remembers had never looked as humble or repentant as the sister standing in front of her. "You could say that. I can see light and color okay, but not much else. In my left eye, at least. Can't see a thing in my right. Funny thing: even though we're given two eyes, we only lose a fifth of our field of vision if we lose one of them. Did you know that?" Her chuckle is pained and awkward.

Misa can feel worms crawling in her gut. She feels sick, all of a sudden. "Wait. So, y-you're telling me that you're—"

Kimiko nods. "Yeah. I'm now legally blind."

"H…how did that happen? You weren't blind before."

"Got behind the wheel one night after coming out of a bar. Fucked up my leg, managed to cut open the back of my head," Kimiko says flatly. "I still have the scar. You don't have to see it if you don't want to, though. You never were crazy about that sort of thing."

Misa's emotions are boiling, sizzling over, like a pot left unattended. "Driving drunk, huh? Why am I not surprised?"

Kimiko cringes at the sharpness of Misa's words. Misa herself doesn't like the venom dripping from them, but can't find it in her to stop. How dare she show up in her face like nothing has happened?

"Kimi, why are you really here?" She uncurls herself and plants her bare feet on the cold linoleum, but still clutches the pillow tightly to her chest. To keep her already broken heart from going out to her sister and letting her break it again. "I don't see or hear from you in almost six years, and now you have the gall to pop in from out of the blue like everything's fine?"

"Misa, I—your friends got a hold of me, told me what's been going on with you. They said that you tried to kill yourself. I had to come back—"

Misa's laugh is too bitter for them both. "Come back? It takes you hearing about me attempting suicide for you to come back after all this time? I'm shocked that you were sober enough to even listen. Who are these friends who told you this anyway, huh?"

"Touta and Kanzo."

Misa freezes. Matsu and Mochi? Why…? 

She snarls. "Where were you for all those other times I needed you? Where were you when Mom and Dad were getting cut up to shreds? Where were you during the trial? Where were you when I was getting tied up and tortured for something I didn't even do?" Tears singe the lining of her eyelids, as acidic as the blood in her veins.

Did do, a voice from a dark corner in her mind whispers. But Kimiko doesn't need to know that. She'd never believe her, anyway.

Kimiko hangs her head. "I'm not here to make excuses. And I'm not going to pretend that anything I do from this point on will take back everything I've done in the past. But…you're my sister, Misa. I just think it's time that I start being a sister to you again."

"You abandoned us, Kimi. You abandoned me. The only two people who've been there for me are Light and Kira. And now…"

She almost chokes at the image of Light's dead face flashing through her mind. "And now they're gone, too. Kira betrayed me, like you betrayed me. He took Light from me. We were going to be so happy together, and then he just took him from me."

After everything I did for him…

To her dismay, Kimiko starts to limp across the room, closing in on her, her hand stretched out to her. Her fingernails are icky and yellowed. "Please, Misa…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. Let me see you," she pleads, her own eyes becoming shiny with tears. "I need to see you. I want to see you…"

For a moment, Misa almost wants to let her do just that. But another swell of anger surges through her, from the chest outward, and she lunges to her feet.

"Get away from me!" For the first time in forever, the little sister is stronger than the older, and she knocks her to the ground, kicking the cane out of reach. The way Kimiko cries out cuts her deep down, and yet satisfies her in a sick, sick way.

"Misa," Kimiko chides her, her voice thick with unshed tears as she feels the ground for her cane, "stop this nonsense. I know you're angry, but you have to let go of it. I don't want you to end up like me."

It might be too late for that.

Misa glares at the scarf on her sister's head, burning a hole through it. "You should have died," she hisses, unsure as to whether she really means this or not. "Y-you should have died all mangled and covered in blood, just like Mom and Dad did." She feels like attacking her again, but something won't let her. Kimiko already looks so helpless on the ground.

The older Amane sighs. "You know, Misa? Sometimes I would think the same way. I made my parents and little sister suffer and left them to clean up the mess I made. I couldn't keep my marriage together. I couldn't even carry my first child to term. For whatever reason, I refused to get my act together. I should've died in that crash.

"But I lived, instead. It's sad, how these days it takes people dying or almost dying for us to wake up, to realize what's really important. But it's damn effective. Or at least it has been for me. I've paid for my mistakes, and now it's time for me to…"

Misa doesn't see it coming. Before she knows it, Kimiko wraps her arms around her waist and pulls her squealing onto her knees at her level. She wraps her into a hug, her hand cradling her head against her lean shoulder.

"Stop it, let go of me!" Misa screams, her tiny fists beating at any part of her sister that she can get at. She hits her, bites her, wriggles around in her arms to break free, but they seem to tighten around her, the more resistance she puts up. "You don't understand! I don't want a reason to keep living, anymore! I'd rather be dead!" In the throes of her tantrum, she yanks off the scarf, revealing patchy clumps of hair between areas of bare scalp. She can see the corner of a thin, white scar creeping up from behind her ear.

"I love you, Misa. I've never said that as often as I should, I know I've hurt you, and maybe you don't believe me, but I still love you. We can take what's left of us and start over. If only you would just find it in you to—"

"How can things ever go back to the way they were?" Misa demands, her forehead against Kimi's chest, her tears now streaming down her heated, reddened face without restraint. "Can you bring Mom and Dad back? Can I bring Light back?" 

Can I bring myself back?

"Shut up, Kimiko! Just shut the fuck up! Stop talking about a better future that may never happen! Stop trying to fool me! Stop trying to—stop trying to…give me a reason to…"

She can't finish. The lump in her throat explodes into a sob, saturated with confusion and stubbornness and despair and a foolish love for the woman stroking her hair that pushes itself to the forefront, no matter how bad she has been to her, and vise versa. It saps whatever fighting spirit she still has in her, and she buries her face in the warm fabric of Kimiko's shirt to cry.

She no longer smells of booze. She smells like her sister.

…

Matsuda bites his lip. He pulls away from the crack in the door, his stomach in knots over the scene that's just erupted behind it. "Mogi, things are starting to get hairy in there," he whispers. "Maybe this was a bad idea? We'd better get in there and—"

A large, meaty hand claps over his shoulder. Matsuda turns to look at Mogi through wide, worried eyes. His partner shakes his head.

"I think they're working through it, already."

The two of them are there only for damage control, something that cannot be done until after the storm passes. Until then, storms must be left to rage themselves out.

Still in doubt, Matsuda turns his gaze back towards the inside of the room. Misa's still crying. Kimiko starts to rock her, quietly. There's no need for words, right now.


	33. Son

"Are you okay, Dad?" Sayu asks him, her brow knit with undue worry. "You're shaking…are you cold? Can you slide out?" She's barely sixteen, stuck in that awkward place between childhood and adulthood, and it achingly shows in the unsure tone underlying her rapid fire of questions.

He manages a smile that feels unconvincing to him, a thin veil for the weariness saturating his clichéd reply. "I'm all right, don't worry." He's so tired, he can't stand it. He could fight through it when he was still working as chief of the NPA, but nowadays the only work he does is the routine in physical therapy, and even that much leaves him feeling like a crushed juicebox.

She shouldn't need to worry about things like this at her age. Her late 20s, early 30s, maybe, but not before then. Sayu should be concerned about school and boys (and not giving two wits about how he'd rather her put more focus into the former than the latter). She shouldn't be fretting over whether her father can maneuver out of the car and into the wheelchair she and Sachiko have just set up before him.

He musters up whatever control he still has to will away the twitch in his fingers. They're not twitching so much with cold or weakness as they are from a tentative and misplaced craving for a cigarette. As his job had become increasingly stressful, Soichiro had taken up smoking a cigarette, sometimes two at a time, the warm soothing puffs helping to peel off some of the edge. Among other things, it had sparked arguments between him and Sachiko, and he had resolved to sneak off somewhere private to light up whenever he'd get the urge, taking care to take a mint afterwards so as to clean up the smell on his breath.

Oftentimes, he would look at Ryuzaki and his eating habits and ask himself whether that edge was what compelled him to pour sugar onto his tongue from straight out of the bag. With those habits of his, he may not have had too long to live even if Kira didn't kill him...or if he hadn't decided to off himself, as the case turned out to be. The task force had been in the middle of disposing his ashes when it'd happened, a few weeks after Watari's funeral. He doesn't remember much of it; he had been in the middle of giving the eulogy when delirium crashed over him like a wave, knocking the urn out of his hands. The last thing he'd heard was the crash of shattered porcelain at the exact moment he'd hit the ground.

The next thing he knows, his left side is gone from the neck down. With it goes whatever chances he'd had of going back to the police. Maybe this was his punishment...?

"There's still a chance to rehabilitate you," the doctor had assured them. "You might not return to the exact same level of functionality as you'd had before, but we can get you back to something close to that." He had not been too convinced at the time; after the heart attack he'd had months before, it was a fucking miracle he was still alive, never mind capable of understanding. But he'd be damned if he spent the rest of his life as useless as an empty potato sack.

He's been useless for too long, already, even before the wheelchair.

Maybe he's not so out of it after all, if he can still have cravings, he thinks to himself in jest not without bitterness. Not that he's going to get relief from them, in the condition he's in. And a cemetery is hardly a place where he'd do it if he could; that would be disrespectful to the occupants.

But perhaps who they're visiting has something to do with it? Help had come too late for him, and Soichiro can't help but wonder now if he has blame in that.

Sachiko, creases of exhaustion carved deep into her own face, stoops over to catch him when he teeters on the edge of the vinyl, as Sayu shuffles around uneasily, wanting to be of help but unable to decide where she should be. "Are you ready, honey?"

He clings to her and nods against her shoulder, still unused to the fact that he can't feel his own wife's hand gripping his left side, after almost twenty years of enjoying the sensation of her soft, warm hands on every part of his body. He feels literally like half a person, in body and mind.

In one practiced fluid motion, she glides him on his right side into his chair, her quiet, labored grunts making him wish for a moment that she'd have taken up his offer in the beginning to divorce him.

You don't deserve this. Neither of you do. You don't deserve to suffer for our mistakes.

His faith in Light's innocence may not have been as blind as it had come across to the others, or even himself. Ryuzaki had planted the seeds of doubt in his mind when he'd asked that cameras and wiretaps be installed in his house, and from when he'd watched Light search his room as though checking for signs of intrusion with the thoroughness of someone hiding a secret, it only grew from there. There were precious moments when it had looked hopeful, but like a weed with its roots left in the soil, it would just grow back again, thick enough to make Soichiro retreat to a jail cell so he wouldn't hurt anyone. He was torn, between his only son, and a man who would often remind him of his son, the world's greatest detective who was never wrong. Even today, he sits split down the middle, having failed as both a detective and a father.

Really, could there have been anyone else besides Light? There had been Higuchi and Amane, but they'd ultimately been little more than covers, pawns that Light had used to throw the task force off-track. Twisted as they were, neither's ideals had matched Kira's nearly as well as Light's did.

What could've happened to him to have driven him to take up such an awful power as the power to take lives in the name of warped justice? Did something inside him break when he hadn't been looking? Goodness knows that he'd had so few chances to look as Light grew up. Sachiko had warned him time and again that maybe letting Light get involved in detective work would be too much for him; "he's just a boy."

But Light was so mature for his age, he'd reasoned, he'd appreciate the challenge, and the sooner he'd get exposure to the field work of his choice career, the better. Had exposing him to the darker side of humanity caused Light to become cynical and despairing beneath the surface about human nature and the efforts of the law in maintaining peace, willing to become a monster himself in his own attempt to fight the monsters in society?

But he would have had to face it sometime. Had Soichiro waited until he was older before getting him involved, would it have made a difference? Maybe not...or maybe so, if he had just been there more...didn't raise him with such lofty ideals and then proving himself next to powerless under both L's and Kira's influence...

So many wrong turns…Soichiro may never know for sure when or how Kira was conceived, but would it matter if he did? Would it bring Light back to them? No. Kira is gone. He had taken Light with him, and all that's left of them both is the tombstone before him.

It bears only one name, the name of the brother and son that Sayu and Sachiko knew and loved. Sayu places a small vase of flowers underneath the kanji, while Sachiko lays a small plate of cake next to it. The cake is homemade, a tradition that had been abandoned when Light had first started school.

Today is February 28th, nearly four months since his death. Today he would have turned nineteen.

"Remember that one birthday, Mom? When I blew out the candles on his cake?" Sayu says, trying to break the gloomy overcast silence with fond memories.

Sachiko nods. "He'd let you do it. He always had such a good heart…"

Would Light have been willing to off these two, as much as he'd been to off him? Soichiro can't bear the thought. He keeps this to himself, as with everything else. Two thick books sit in his lap, wrinkling in the cool winter air.

Light…I had the chance to kill you myself, but I couldn't do it. I'm not a murderer, and doing so wouldn't have made me any better than you. Maybe if I hadn't wasted so much time telling myself that it wasn't true, we would've had a better chance to save you. For that...for everything, I'm sorry.

When it's his turn to pay his tribute, he leans in to stack the two volumes of The Compendium of Laws onto the grass, one after the other.

You may have been a murderer, but you are still my son. My only son. You always were, and you always will be no matter what. I wish it wasn't so, but when did wishing do anyone any good? Look where it got us both.

He can only lean so far in the wheelchair, so Sayu helps him to stack them before she rises to her feet.

"Thank you, Sayu."

"No problem, Dad," she says, smiling at him in spite of the shine in her eyes that can only be identified as unshed tears.

He musters up enough strength to touch her soft round face (just like her mother's, and Light's before age and an inner darkness carved their angles into it), crumbling inside when he sees that the gesture only seems to encourage the tears rather than soothe them. He himself can't find it in him to cry. It almost seems as though he's run out of tears.

As for me…I have too many reasons not to leave this world, just yet.

Time escapes him, and before long, it's time to go, before the snow falls heavy. As Sachiko wheels him around towards the gates, he reaches with his right hand to place it over hers, squeezing it in what he is unsure of to be genuine reassurance. Even now, he can't speak the word out loud, the one he hadn't gotten to say to him before he'd breathed his last in his arms, crying like the infant he'd held on the day he'd breathed his first.

Good-bye, Light. Happy Birthday.


End file.
